


A Little Less Untouchable

by Guardian



Series: And They Were Roommates [2]
Category: Cable and Deadpool, Deadpool (Movieverse), Deadpool - All Media Types
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Communication Failure, Domestic Fluff, Humor, Ice Cream Tacos are a metaphor, Idiots in Love, Logan has a big heart and he's pissed about it, M/M, Masturbation, Mental Health Issues, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Roommates, Sex Talk, Sexuality, So Married, Wade's Boxes Are Intrusive Thoughts But He's Doing Better
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-02
Updated: 2019-03-14
Packaged: 2019-07-05 20:41:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15871371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Guardian/pseuds/Guardian
Summary: Nate was well aware of the armor Wade put up to the rest of the world now that he'd been allowed to see Wade without it. Those little things were moments shared between the two of them when they weren't playing at being heroes or mercenaries or unbreakable weapons of destruction. They were just allowed to be two people. Not 'Cable', not 'Deadpool'. Just Nate and Wade and whatever the heck that meant.(Sequel toA Little 'XO' Wouldn't Go Amiss)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much [ladysassafrass](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ladysassafrass) for the fantastic beta work and saving my actual life.

Being roommates with Wade was a mixed bag of the good and bad things that they learned about each other over time.

Nate learned that he could tell what kind of mood Wade was in based on how he fed himself. A great mental health day usually started out with an abundance of good food -- enough pancakes for them both to eat for a week, for instance. An okay day and Wade might try to make pork chops in the toaster. A bad day and he'd find Wade trying to stab open a can of cat food with a knife.

Wade learned that Nate's moods depended on how he woke up in the morning. If he was up early, doing psychic yoga or whatever-the-fuck, Wade knew that Nate was feeling good enough to try to save the entire human race single handedly. Other days, Nate needed a lot of coffee before he found his happy place. And now and then, Nate would still be in bed long after Wade had gotten up for the day, and trying to wake him up usually resulted in stabbings.

There were a few early days when they clashed unexpectedly. A minor kitchen fire caused by pork chop grease was not ideal on days when Nate didn't want to get up. It ended with a lot of screaming and yelling. The same went for days when Wade was feeling frustrated and hungry, trying to pry open a can of whatever he'd managed to find, and Nate was stupid enough to try lecturing him about how some yoga and meditation was gonna fix all his problems while Wade still had a knife in his hands.

Afterwards, they'd both feel bad about it, but be a little too stubborn to apologize at first. Sometimes that part took several hours, or even a couple days before they'd make a peace offering, and then they could put it behind them. 

It was easy to learn how to navigate living together, once they both actually paid attention to the other.

Nate enjoyed listening to Wade's voice even when he rambled on. It was soothing to be able to just listen and not be expected to have any answers. Wade found it comforting when Nate took control of a stressful situation, however minor that situation was. Deciding what to have for dinner or choosing which movie to watch could feel like an impossible task. Sometimes his brain just felt so overwhelmed, and it was a relief to have Nate take over so he didn't have to think.

On Nate's bad days, Wade would let him sleep as long as possible before carefully waking him up with breakfast. It always made Nate look so surprised and oddly touched. Then Wade would keep the coffee flowing and just chatter to himself, not expecting Nate to engage in any actual conversation until he was ready.

On Wade's bad days, Nate would take away any guns, knives, or sharp objects and tell Wade to sit still while he took care of everything. Once he'd even kissed Wade on the forehead, and Wade had been so dumbfounded he'd just sat in the middle of the kitchen floor while Nate moved around him. He could be fidgety or frustrated while he waited, but once Nate made him something to eat -- actual human food instead of his go-to cat food or processed garbage -- Wade would calm down and be grateful for it.

Nate had said that they both needed stability. Structure. It was a little harder for them to work out what that structure would look like, but little by little, they were getting there.

Wade was reluctant in the extreme, but over time, Nate managed to sneak healthier food into Wade's diet, including fresh fruits and vegetables, which had previously been unheard of with Wade's sweet tooth and love of fast food. Then Nate almost had heart failure when Wade actually sat down to join him one day while he was meditating. Wade ended up falling asleep, but _still._ From then on, it became a semi-regular occurrence for Wade to come copy his yoga exercises (Wade was shockingly good at it, but claimed it was boring despite obviously showing off) and then take a nap while Nate meditated.

Nobody else could understand how they managed to live together, especially Wade's circle of friends. Nate tried, once, to explain how considerate Wade could be, but found words alone to be lacking. They didn't know how it felt to live with someone who could understand him without everything needing to be said. Someone who appreciated his humor, and could make him laugh in return. Someone who left him little notes on pieces of Hello Kitty stationery.

They wouldn't believe half of the things if he did try to tell them, but Nate realized he didn't want anyone else to know that Wade insisted on a 'jammies only' rule once they were in for the night, or how he was always adorably excited for Taco Tuesdays, or how Fridays were reserved for a night in on the couch with a movie, or how Wade could quote the entirety of _Titanic,_ or how he'd bawled his eyes out while watching _Up._ Not because it was embarrassing or strange, but because Nate was well aware of the armor Wade put up to the rest of the world now that he'd been allowed to see Wade without it. Those little things were moments shared between the two of them when they weren't playing at being heroes or mercenaries or unbreakable weapons of destruction. They were just allowed to be two people. Not 'Cable', not 'Deadpool'. Just Nate and Wade and whatever the heck that meant.

Then there were other things they learned, like how Wade could tell when Nate's shoulders became too tense from the stress of all the shit going on in the world. He hadn't asked -- hadn't needed to -- just started massaging Nate's back for him, lightly at first and then firmer once Nate relaxed. He was surprisingly good with his hands.

And Nate noticed things about Wade, like how the texture of his skin could change from one day to the next, or that Wade alternated between whether he'd take showers or baths. At first he assumed that the mercenary would have a good soak if he'd had a particularly hard day, or been injured, or stressed, but he soon realized there was no rhyme or reason to it that he could see.

Wade was having one of those long soaks in the tub one day when Nate decided he really needed to get in there to retrieve his favorite gun.

"Wade, can I come in?"

" _Mmm, yeah-_ "

He should've known right then. He should've heard the breathiness in Wade's thoughtless reply and _known_ , but he hadn't stopped to think before opening the door, and Wade hadn't even realized he'd said anything at all.

That was how he'd walked in on Wade masturbating. Hot, clear water up to his chest, lapping at his skin. One foot out of the water, toes curled, erection laying against his stomach. His head tipped back against the back of the tub, eyes closed, the back of his hand pressed against his mouth to keep quiet. The other hand in the water, between his thighs.

Nate only had an instant to process two things: firstly, that Wade somehow looked even prettier like this, in this moment of self-indulgent pleasure, and secondly, that he had no right to have seen this and he'd made a terrible Mistake.

The next instant, Wade bolted upright, water sloshing everywhere.

"Dude! Knocking?!" He blurted out, and then, despite the fact that Nate was already leaving, "Get out!"

Nate made sure to shut the door behind him, at least. He heard Wade sink back into the water, and tried to put some distance between them by going into the kitchen. He put his hands on the counter, leaning heavily against it, still seeing that solitary moment of Wade engraved into his mind.

Despite his regret that that had just happened, despite the worry that he'd caused Wade a degree of mortification or anger for being intruded on, Nate didn't… necessarily… regret what he had seen. He couldn't deny that, nor could he deny to himself that he felt a clench of arousal just recalling the sight.

Life with Wade had always been unexpectedly platonic. It wasn't like Wade didn't flirt, or make crude sexual jokes, or lament his lack of a sex life. But that was just it. Wade deflected everything with humor, and had a bad habit of belittling himself. The idea of Wade and sex together almost became cartoonish, like everything else about his life. From the outside, before he got to know him, Nate might've heard Wade joke about different things -- like crying over chick flicks, or having an unhealthy obsession with Bed Bath and Beyond, or being able to make a mean quiche -- and taken it as a joke. But experiencing it firsthand was different. At home, Wade was a lot calmer, a lot softer. The cartoonish armor melted away into something real. He'd seen Wade laugh so hard he'd thrown up, and he'd seen him get so angry with himself for not being able to save everybody, and he'd even let Wade sob into his lap once until he was too tired to cry anymore.

It seemed only natural that Nate would one day see him in yet another vulnerable state. But he hadn't expected to feel so affected by the realization that Wade was a sexual being.

Maybe that humor always made him feel a little bit untouchable. 

When Wade came out of the bathroom, Nate still wasn't over it. Still wasn't at all ready to have a Serious Talk. But then, neither was Wade, so at least they were both in uncomfortable territory.

"Mm. So. Whatever you think you saw, you _didn't_ ," Wade informed him.

Nate squinted at the kitchen counter, feeling some serious _doubt_ about that denial. "Pretty sure I saw your dick, Wade."

Wade scoffed and then made a huffy sound of disbelief. "Well, it's not like you haven't seen me naked before. Stop acting so shocked! I've got a dick, you've got a dick, and they both like some TLC. You might be doing a holier-than-thou Mutant Jesus act for everybody else, but I know you jerk off just like the rest of us perverts."

The way Wade said it, with plenty of good-natured ribbing, Nate had to try not to smile. "Well. You're not entirely wrong."

"I'm entirely _right._ I've seen your internet history. Yeah, that's right! You never clear it, and also I thought it'd be funny to see what you looked at, but you've got surprisingly good taste and _we are not going to talk about that!_ But maybe we can stop pretending like we're not two hot-blooded males living under the same roof? I'm so tired of pruning up every time the mood strikes, and it's not like I can take three baths a day--"

"Jesus, Wade," Nate interrupted. "If you need to masturbate, just do it. You don't need to worry about if I know that you're doing it."

"I don't worry about that!" Wade objected, but the tension in his shoulders and blush that gradually heated his skin spoke volumes. "I just…"

"What?"

"I don't want things to be awkward! But they probably already are now," Wade added, falling silent. His face was the very definition of worry.

"It's only awkward if you allow it to be," Nate reasoned. "On the contrary, I have strong feelings about sexual wellness being an important part of one's overall health. When I feel the urge, I take care of my needs. Frequently. But your sex drive sounds a lot higher than mine. You shouldn't be denying yourself a method of release. It's unhealthy."

"Right, so I should just slap one out whenever I feel like it."

It was meant as sarcasm, but that was lost on Nate.

"Right."

"Wait, seriously? Just… whenever?"

"Yes?" Nate assured him, raising a brow at Wade's hesitancy. He could never get over the archaic attitudes towards sexuality in this timeline. "As you said, we're both two hot-blooded males living under the same roof."

"Right," Wade said, letting out a breath, and Nate wasn't quite sure if Wade was more or less tense now. 

It didn't matter, because Wade swiftly changed the topic to something that had happened the day before. He'd already heard the full story yesterday, but he let Wade tell it over again and carry on chattering until he'd calmed down about the entire situation and put it safely behind them.

 

-

 

That night, Nate got off while thinking about Wade. In his fantasy, Wade didn't stop touching himself when Nate walked in on him, but instead watched him with half-lidded eyes and hitched his thighs apart a little more, so Nate could have a clearer view.

He felt a little guilty after. ' _Whatever you think you saw, you didn't,_ ' Wade had said. But Nate knew damn well where Wade's hand had been, and it hadn't been anywhere near his dick.

 

-

 

Despite their talk, Wade most emphatically did _not_ touch himself for the next three days. Nate tried not to pay attention, but Wade didn't take any baths and all of his showers were almost absurdly quick. Unless Wade was sneaking it in when he left the apartment, or in the dead of night, it wasn't happening. And Nate could tell from Wade's increased irritability and how ansty he was, it definitely wasn't happening.

Nate told himself that wasn't his problem. He couldn't just pin Wade down and force him to do anything. Although when Wade got angry and started throwing shit, it was a little tempting to grab him by the throat and tell him to knock it off.

Nate had his own shit to deal with. Between working with the X-Men and the days he spent trying to play peacemaker, people could be so frustrating. It was getting to the point where he was seriously considering just making his own fucking island country so he could show these selfish assholes how a society _should_ be run. He really didn't have the patience to deal with Wade's misplaced energy lately, and if Wade opened and slammed a cupboard door one more time, they'd both regret it.

_Slam!_

Holy shit. Okay.

_Slam!_

"For fuck's sake, Wade," Nate raised his voice. "You just had a snack. I know you're not hungry so knock it off."

"I'm _bored,_ " Wade complained, with all the directionless fury that came from having high energy and no outlet.

"Find something to do or I'll find something for you," Nate threatened.

The threat didn't work so well.

" _Find something for me to do._ "

Nate sighed, rubbing his aching neck as he thought about it. He could make Wade do something like scrub the toilet, but he'd probably just get angrier about being punished. He could make Wade dismantle all his guns to clean and oil them. It was helpful, and Wade loved being allowed to handle Nate's armory, and the task required focus but wasn't so difficult for Wade that he'd get bored.

But Nate didn't really need his guns cleaned, and he didn't like the idea of how much chaos that would cause in the meantime, and _god_ , his back was sore.

"Wade," Nate said, before he could stop himself. "Don't you have some body oils?" 

"From Bath and Body Works? _Yes,_ " Wade answered immediately, practically bouncing over to him. "You want them?"

 _Not particularly, no,_ Nate thought to himself. But Wade had mentioned them before -- several times, in fact -- every time he offered to give Nate a 'real' massage. He desperately wanted to use the body oils, it was why he'd bought them in the first place, but Nate refused. He hated the idea of having his skin all greasy or whatever. The very thought of it always made him more tense instead of less, and then Wade would accuse him of being a tightass incapable of letting himself relax. But Nate _did_ know how to relax… just… _not_ when he was already stressed, which was admittedly when he needed to relax the most.

His back _hurt_ the more he thought about it, and Wade needed something to do, and Nate was willing to kill two birds with one stone. Even if he still hated it, he knew that it would be a few minutes where he could stop thinking and just listen to Wade talk to him about whatever stream of consciousness came to mind. That was worth the oily skin.

So instead of answering, Nate took off his shirt and let that be his signal of defeat.

"OHMIGODOKAY," Wade blurted out, totally keeping his cool at the realization that Nate was finally going to let him oil up his big beefy back. "Do you want Eucalyptus and Spearmint, or Lavender and Cedarwood? And more importantly, can I use some WD-40 on the T.O.?"

"Wade, I really don't fucking care. You've got 30 seconds to pick one before I change my mind," Nate warned him.

"But one is--" Wade stopped himself, knowing full well that for whatever reason Nate had a thing against oils and would most definitely change his mind again if given half an excuse. "Agh! Okay, fine, but we gotta do this properly. Go lay down on your bed, I'll be right there."

"Absolutely not," Nate refused. "I'm not getting oil all over my sheets. I'll lay down on the floor."

"The _floor_ , Nate?" Wade sounded wildly offended at the idea. "You're not gonna lay on the floor. Jesus Christ, Nate, I'm trying to give you an _experience._ "

"I don't care about that extra stuff," Nate reminded him.

"Just do it for me?" Wade begged. "I'd let you lay down on _my_ bed, but, oh yeah, _I don't have one_."

Nate prickled at the reminder that he had the only bedroom. " _You_ offered-"

"I gave you the bedroom because, yeah, you deserve nice stuff!" Wade cut him off. "Like, privacy and all. Away from me, so you don't have to put up with me all the time, 'cause we both know that's a full time job. That's why I wanna do this right, at least once! We'll put down a towel if you want, but I'm not gonna get oil everywhere, promise!"

Nate wanted to object, first at the notion that he deserved better than Wade did, or that he had to 'put up' with Wade, and then at the idea of oil all over his bed, which he still _hated,_ but he realized that Wade was trying really hard. This shouldn't be an argument. He needed to lighten up.

Wordlessly, Nate went to his bed and laid down, burying his face in his arms. He heard Wade make an oddly high-pitched squeal of excitement, and couldn't help but smile despite the distinct guilty feeling that came from knowing he'd been acting like an ass. Again. God, he thought he was getting better at not doing that.

Wade came in a moment later.

"Get up, for just a second," Wade said, his voice softer than expected, coaxing.

Nate got up and Wade moved his pillow down the bed and laid out a towel, as promised. "Okay."

Nate reached for the pillow to put it back under his head, but Wade stopped him.

"No, that stays there."

"...Why?"

"Because I'm trying to make your back feel _better_ , not worse," Wade explained. "You'll be laying on your stomach so you should have a pillow under your hips, to keep your spine lined up."

That was so reasonable, and it always took Nate by surprise when Wade spat out things like that. Little details that were so astute, he wondered how anyone thought Wade was actually stupid. Wondered how _he'd_ ever thought that.

Nate laid down again, having to pause to let Wade push him into place, or move the pillow until it sat just right underneath him. When he finally let himself sink down, it felt different. More intimate, somehow.

"Should I light some candles?" Wade wondered.

" _Wade._ "

"Just to set the mood! I swear, you're allergic to a little self-indulgence," Wade griped. Nate heard a bottle open. "Which is confusing as hell to me, because I know you get your nails manicured…"

"That's just good hygiene," Nate replied. "You could use a little more of that." He meant it as a sly dig to encourage Wade to take up his baths again, but as soon as it left his mouth he knew he'd gone far off the mark.

"Ouch. Not all of us can do a three-hour skin care regimen," Wade replied. "Which is why one of us looks like a sun-dried raisin fucked a turnip."

"Fuck off, Wade," Nate mumbled. Maybe he managed to moisturize once in a while, but Wade knew full well he didn't have time for something like that. "You don't look like a raisin."

"Sorry, I should have better mental images ready to go," Wade said. "A naked mole rat, but one that fell into a deep fryer, got eaten by Galactus, and then shat out into the sewers."

Well, that was vivid. And once again, Nate considered the idea of creating a swear jar for Wade, but instead of putting in a quarter every time he said a cuss word, he'd have to put in a quarter for every time he degraded himself.

"When you keep saying stuff like that, you'll start believing it," Nate warned him. And he was beginning to wonder what Wade was waiting for, when a warm drizzle of oil poured over his spine.

"What's not to believe?" Wade asked, using his hands to smooth the oil over Nate's back. "Sorry if it's cold."

"Ah-- It's not cold, it's perfect," Nate assured him. "And I like your skin, Wade."

"You mean you can stomach it," Wade corrected. Nate would have to be able to, otherwise the whole 'roomies' thing wouldn't work out, because Wade just didn't have it in him to be Deadpool 24/7. "--or you mean literally, because today's kind of a good texture day for a massage. I'm ribbed for your pleasure," he joked, but neither of them laughed.

"I think you'll take it the wrong way," Nate admitted.

Wade paused to add more oil to Nate's back, but Nate couldn't see the puzzled expression on his face. "Try me," he said, wondering what Nate meant.

"I... _like_ seeing your skin, Wade. I like that you feel comfortable enough to trust me with that. But also…" he hesitated, drawing in a breath when Wade's hands moved up his spine, soothing over each of his shoulder blades, and then tracing the seam where the techno-organic virus zippered into his flesh, connecting metal to muscle. "I think it's… beautiful."

"Say that to me again and I'll punch you," Wade grumbled, but he sounded more confused than angry, and his hands faltered.

"I told you you'd take it wrong."

"How am I _supposed_ to take it?" Wade kneaded his skin, a little too hard. "I hate being patronized, Nate. Miss me with that shit."

"Wade, you are a conventionally attractive man, and it's impossible to miss, no matter what your skin looks like," Nate said, in a no-bullshit, factual tone of voice.

"Even when I'm lumpy?" Wade asked.

"More lumps, more to love," Nate quipped.

"There's no point in trying to sweet talk me, Nate. ...What about when I'm wrinkly?"

Nate smiled to himself. "Honestly? Your cutest look."

Wade gasped theatrically. "I'm cute?!"

"As a wrinkly little button," Nate confirmed. 

"I'm _cuuuute_!"

Wade took his hands off of Nate's back and then Nate felt the mattress dip with his weight.

"I'm coming up," Wade said, already throwing his knee over Nate, straddling him. Nate went still as Wade settled on him, hips against his backside. "Somuchbetter," Wade sighed, leaning forward -- _god_ \-- and pressing his thumbs along Nate's spine. Nate half expected for Wade to rock against him, a slow grind into the mattress -- or maybe that was what he _wanted_ \-- but instead Wade started kneading him like a kitten, thoroughly and enthusiastically. After a few seconds, Nate realized that Wade didn't even to notice the compromising position, nor did he have any ulterior motives other than a single-minded determination to attack every knotted muscle until Nate was left soft and defenseless.

"This reminds me of that creepy Katy Perry music video," Wade said. "All I need to do is rub some herbs and spices into your skin and then boil you in a soup. Bon Appetit."

Nate held his breath and counted to ten. Exhaled slowly. Took a breath and counted again.

"What about... when I'm covered in open sores?" Wade asked, voice going quiet as he brought the topic back up. "Still think my pus is cute?"

"Hm. It looks like it's painful for you," Nate said, choosing his words carefully. "Makes me wish that I could wrap you in a piece of silk and keep you there for an entire day."

"Pft. That's a really specific sexual fantasy and honestly if it didn't sound painfully boring, I'd be really into it because I bet that'd feel amazing," Wade sighed, while his hands did magical things to Nate's back.

"What about me?" Nate asked, and felt Wade go still.

"Um. Well… I always thought about the two of us going to the beach together, and I'd insist on rubbing some sunscreen onto your back for you, because y'know, _skin cancer_. And then you'd be like, 'oh Wade, that feels really good, please don't stop' and then you'd let me getcha with the WD-40. But you actually _asked_ for a massage and we're on your bed instead so like… _wow_."

Wade pressed down again, shifting his weight slowly from one hand to the other. He seemed less focused on any technique now, just touching Nate thoughtlessly. Everytime he shifted his hips even slightly, Nate could feel Wade pressing into him… hard.

Nate took in another breath and held it, trying not to move, because if he did he wouldn't be able to help himself. 

"I meant… my skin," Nate said slowly. "Since we were talking about yours. I wanted to know how you felt about mine."

Wade froze above him, not even moving a muscle while he processed what Nate had just said -- what _he'd_ just said. Nate might've been saying some sappy stuff, but that was different. They both said sappy stuff and they both flirted back and forth sometimes, as a joke. It was all jokes, like when Domino first heard they'd taken a one bedroom apartment and asked them who was the little spoon, and they both said 'I am,' without missing a beat. Or when they were out trying to be badasses and Nate would start applying excessive amounts of chapstick while staring him in the eye, and Wade would start wiggling his eyebrows suggestively back at him and blowing kisses until one of them lost by laughing -- usually Nate. Or when Nate mentioned knowing how to make tiramisu and Wade offered to suck his dick if he'd do it.

Wade was the one who joked about Nate's silk comment being a sexual fantasy. And then he was the one who had mistakenly offered up one of his actual, not-so-platonic, secret daydreams about Nate. Only it wasn't so secret anymore.

As if accidentally inviting Nate into the bathroom while he was having some self-love wasn't bad enough. Way to make a good thing awkward.

"You're all done," Wade chirped, scooting off the bed in a hurry.

"Wade-" Nate began, sitting up, but the other man was already gone, snapping the bedroom door shut behind him in his retreat.

For a second, Nate started weighing the pros and cons of going after Wade while he was flustered like this, but then he heard Wade shut himself up in the bathroom and the water start running.

Nate flopped onto his back with a sigh, realizing that all he could smell was lavender and cedarwood, warm and thick in the air. He could still feel Wade's weight on top of him, his talented hands touching him. Nate tried not to think about what Wade was doing right now with those same hands, what they were both doing, drowned out under the sound of running water. Tried not to think about how it would feel to have Wade touching him instead.

But he could visualize it all perfectly.

 

x


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning, Nate laid in bed until he heard Wade up and around, rummaging through the kitchen. He really didn't want to get up, not sure what kind of mood Wade was going to be in. Not sure how they were going to move forward without having things feel strange between them. Not sure what he even wanted.

When he came out, Wade was scooping leftover spaghetti sauce onto two pieces of toast. Nate watched with a sort of morbid fascination, until Wade finished loading up the toast and chucked his spoon into the sink.

"Is that your breakfast?" Nate asked. The fact that he didn't entirely approve was probably obvious in his voice.

Wade eyed him for a second. "And a banana," he said. "Which I intend to eat slowly and sensually."

As if to demonstrate, Wade lifted up one of the soggy pieces of toast and took a bite, all while maintaining eye contact with Nate. The bread immediately collapsed and dropped its load of spaghetti sauce all over Wade and the floor.

Nate covered his mouth with his hand, trying to look thoughtful.

"I guess I should've started with the banana," Wade lamented, dropping the remains of his soggy toast back onto the plate. He grabbed a rag from the sink and started trying to wipe up the sauce from the floor, the counter, his shirt-- "Oh god, it's everywhere."

Nate watched him clean up, and realized right now was as good a time as any to have a conversation, while Wade couldn't run away so easily. "Wade, can we talk?"

"We _are_ talking, sweetie," Wade answered, scrubbing at the kitchen tiles.

"You know what I mean," Nate said, and watched Wade tense in anticipation.

"Look, we _both_ said some things we didn't mean last night."

 _Didn't mean?_ The denial shouldn't have caught him off guard as badly as it did. Nate went perfectly still, feeling a sudden surge of anger so strong that the blood pulsed in his head. "Like what."

"Like, you said I'm _cute_ , and I said I wanted to cook you in a soup. Which I don't."

"Oh," Nate said slowly, trying to let the anger ebb away. 

Wade wasn't exactly negating what he'd said after all, but he was still playing a game of plausible deniability.

"I said a lot of things last night," Nate began. "I'm fairly certain that I said you were beautiful, and conventionally attractive, and of course, cute. And uh..." he hesitated, wincing at himself as he remembered how creepy it sounded in retrospect, "something about swaddling you in silk. Which is the only thing I regret saying out loud. But I can't remember anything I didn't mean."

Wade let out a breath and sat down on the floor, thinking.

"The only thing I regret… is that I said I wanted all that to be an _experience_ for you, and you had to spend half the time telling me I'm not ugly," Wade said, scratching the back of his neck. "Which is a waste of time, because I'm not _blind,_ but-"

"Wade-"

"Eh, I know! Just lemme finish," Wade said, waving his hands at Nate to be quiet. "I was gonna say…. Oh, I forgot where I was going with that. _Oh--!_ No, totally lost it."

"An experience," Nate prompted gently.

"Yeah, an experience…" Wade repeated, mulling it over again. He stood up and chucked the rag back into the sink. "Dim the lights, get out some scented candles, the warming body oil, play some Enya. I know you're stressed out a lot and I just, I didn't want to be the reason why you were stressed out. For once."

"You weren't stressing me out, Wade," Nate said, feeling guilt settle over him. "I'm just… difficult."

"No kidding," Wade agreed, and then laughed. "Geez, look at us. We're just two stupid assholes trying to exist in the same space. I think judging by the fact that we haven't killed each other yet, we're doing _pretty okay_."

Nate smiled. "Two stupid assholes, Wade? There's only one stupid asshole here, and you're looking at him."

"Can't, actually, because I don't have a mirror."

"If you had a mirror, you'd see the funniest, most handsome man alive--"

"I don't know if I'd say you're _funny,_ Nate," Wade answered. "Maybe talented, charming--"

"Talking about yourself."

"--got the biggest dick in the extended Marvel universe--"

" _Definitely_ talking about yourself."

"I was that time, actually," Wade said. "Thank you."

Nate chuckled, and then his phone went off. His face fell when he checked the text. Timing, as always, was poor. There was a brief description of an emergency situation, and coordinates.

"Bat signal?" Wade guessed. "What's on the itinerary today? Wait, don't tell me, I'm getting better at reading your wrinkles. Crinkly nose means that text is from the X-Men. Little crease between the brows means someone is being a dumbass. Frown lines means you're not happy about it, sooo less fun-and-guns and more tense political melodrama? Ooh-- eye roll! That one means 'stop talking, Wade.' If only I listened to you."

Nate sighed. "You're not wrong. Are you coming with?"

"Depends. Was I specifically uninvited?"

"Surprisingly, no."

Wade flicked his hand through the air. "Pass, then. Political melodramas are so boring. Gotta be all diplomatic and pay attention and shit. I'm gonna binge Netflix. That robot from _Lost in Space_ is super hot."

"Alright. Rub one out for me, Wade," Nate requested, going to get his guns and pockets.

Wade threw a mock salute at his roomie's back. "Can do."

 

-

 

Nate didn't get back home until just before dawn. Tired, covered in dirt and blood, and more than a little frustrated at the whole mission. He'd barely managed to keep the techno-organic virus from claiming more of his flesh, but it meant that his wounds were still bleeding and needed to heal the old-fashioned way.

Wade was asleep on the couch, laying on his stomach with his head resting on his arms. The only thing covering his naked skin was a blanket, and even that was barely keeping him modest. It rested dangerously low on his waist, to the point where Nate could see hip and bare thigh. It wasn't really warm enough for Wade to be sleeping nude, so he'd probably made good on his plans for the day.

Nate left his boots and weapons at the doorway, trying to be quiet. He came closer and pulled the blanket over Wade, so he wouldn't wake up cold. It was a little disappointing when Wade woke up anyway despite his best efforts.

"Nate," he said, lifting his head, his voice gurgly with sleep. "You're home. _Mmh._ Wha time's'it?"

"Early. Go back to sleep, Wade."

Wade mumbled a string of words into his pillow, none of which Nate could comprehend aside from the whiney tone of voice. Then he turned his head to the side and asked, "Did you have fun?"

" _No._ I wish I'd just stayed home to watch Robots in Space with you," Nate admitted, sounding very grumpy about the whole ordeal. "I fucking hate political melodrama. Especially when they won't put me in charge but they'll let me get shot at."

"Called it," Wade smiled to himself, his eyes falling shut. "There's plenty of room on the couch, Nate, just say the word."

"Next time," Nate promised, patting Wade on the hip before he left.

As much as Nate wanted to collapse into bed, he was still caked in dust and blood and day-old sweat. He ran himself a hot bath for once, borrowing some of Wade's scented soap, and let out an involuntary moan when he finally sank into the water. This was… _nice_. He felt semi-weightless and warm, and he suddenly understood why Wade enjoyed using the bath for moments of self pleasure. It was tempting for him to do the same, but he was truly tired and the bath water was already filthy.

Nate let himself soak as long as he could stand it, and then finally climbed out on shaky legs so he could towel himself off. He was mostly done when Wade knocked at the bathroom door.

"Um. Nate, can I come in?"

Nate tied the towel around his waist, and used a little burst of TK to unlock the bathroom door and open it, nearly making Wade fall through the entryway.

"Oh. I was just kidding, Nate, I didn't really expect you to let me in," Wade said. He'd put on a pair of boxers covered in pictures of cats flying through outer space, and a plain blue t-shirt that Nate was fairly sure was actually his.

"Turnabout is fair play," Nate shrugged, and then hissed softly at the wound in his shoulder.

"Actually, 'fair' in this situation would be if I got to walk in on you jerkin' it," Wade retorted, glancing at the tub. "I missed out on Nate Soup."

"If that's what you want to see, you only have to ask," Nate said.

Instead, Wade stepped closer, putting a hand on Nate's back. "You got shot?"

"Yeah," Nate sighed. "Ricochet. Bullet's already out, I just have to let it heal."

"Will it turn to metal?" Wade asked, tracing his fingers near the wound. Nate flinched on instinct, but the touch didn't actually hurt.

"No, thankfully."

"Bummer."

"The T.O. isn't a good thing, Wade," Nate reminded him.

"I know," Wade said, sounding like a kid being scolded. "It's just… kinda hot, 's'all."

"Sorry to disappoint."

"Nah, it's okay. Scars are hot too. Lemme get the kit."

Nate stayed still while Wade retrieved the first-aid kit, and then let Wade take care of him. He probably could've managed himself, but it was a lot easier to let Wade clean and dress the wound instead. In a way, it felt really nice to have someone care. Wade's fingers were so light on him, he didn't feel any pain at all.

When Wade finished, he added a smattering of Disney Princess band-aids criss-crossing over the tape and gauze, and then stuck a few more in random places on Nate's skin, because he 'needed the full lineup', and then pressed a little kiss to Nate's shoulder.

"All better," he said.

"Thank you, nurse."

"As a nurse, it's just what I do," Wade replied. "Now, when was the last time you had your prostate checked?"

"Mm. No," Nate said, walking away.

"No? That wasn't a yes or no question, Nate! Do you mean _never?_ What about your health?"

"Not necessary," Nate said, beating a hasty retreat back to his bedroom. Just after he'd managed to shut the door, he heard Wade faceplant into the other side, as if he'd expected Nate to leave the door unlocked.

"Oh. I thought we were past this…"

"I'm going to sleep, Wade," Nate said. "I'd appreciate if you could keep it to a dull roar for a few hours."

"You're _hurt,_ Nate. Shouldn't I like… keep an eye on you so you don't die?"

"That's awfully sweet of you, but I don't have a concussion."

"Well… what if you have prostate cancer? It's a silent killer, Nate."

"Good _night_ , Wade."

"Goodnight, Nate," Wade mumbled, his fingers scratching lightly at the door in disappointment before he moved away.

"What did I do wrong?" he whispered, retreating to the kitchen for a little conference with himself. 

_(You made it awkward,)_ his little yellow box supplied.

"Did I?" Wade wondered aloud, panicking. 

_[More than a little, yeah. He was uncomfortable.]_

"He was," Wade realized, sinking to the floor in despair. "Ah, crap."

There was only one thing he could do in this situation. Wade opened a cupboard door, laid down on his side, and started repeatedly slamming his head in the door.

_Thud. Thud. Thud._

_[Nate doesn't like you hurting yourself,]_ his White box reminded him.

_(Nate also said keep it to a dull roar.)_

"Oh, fuck. My bad," Wade said, letting go of the door. He thumped his head on the tiled floor a couple times instead, with less force, but it still sounded too loud. He stopped.

 _(Remember when you said that thing to Nate two minutes ago?)_ Yellow asked, unhelpfully.

"Ohmigod I made it awkward," Wade mumbled, covering his face with his hands. "What do I do?"

 _[Nothing. You're overthinking it,]_ White said.

 _(Or you could jump into the ocean and let sharks eat you,)_ Yellow suggested.

_[Great idea. **Or!** You could talk to Nate, like an adult.]_

_(Oh my god that sounds awful.)_

"That sounds awful," Wade groaned at the same time.

_[It's not awful. Everything's going to be fine.]_

_(That sounds fake but okay.)_

_[Alternatively, you could always just hide from your problems forever,]_ White suggested sarcastically.

 

-

 

Only a few hours later Nate woke up again, too hungry and sore to go back to sleep. The loss of time was more than a little disorienting. All he wanted to do was grab something to eat and then plant himself in Wade's company until his head caught up with him.

Wade wasn't in the bathroom, nor on the couch, or any other area when Nate looked for him. But he could still sense him nearby somewhere, his unreadable hum of thoughts as active as ever.

When Nate stepped into the kitchen, he found an entire pile of food on the floor, along with some mismatched tupperware, a strainer, and one of his guns. The entire contents of one of the cupboards.

" _That's_ where that went," Nate muttered, picking up his gun and setting it on the counter. Then he cautiously opened the cupboard door, and [found Wade tucked inside](http://koto-squeals.tumblr.com/post/177824618456/cupboard-boy-wade-wade-nodded-and-reached-for-the), mask on, knees to his chest. "And that's where _you_ went."

"Sorry. Did the boxes wake you up?" Wade mumbled.

"No," Nate said, but Wade mentioning the voices in his head always made him a little apprehensive. "The boxes are back?"

"They're always around," Wade shrugged. "Did you hear them?"

"If I could, hypothetically speaking, hear the boxes in your head, what would I have overheard them saying?"

"Hypothetically speaking? All of the songs from Les Mis, Mamma Mia, and Legally Blonde, the Musical."

"There's a musical version?"

"Yes, and it's _amazing_. Hypothetically speaking," Wade added again.

"If you like it, I'm sure it is," Nate said. He hadn't heard any singing, but he was still concerned about Wade potentially having another breakdown. "Is there a reason why you were hiding inside the kitchen cupboard?"

"It's the _shame_ cupboard now," Wade informed him.

"What do you have to be ashamed of?"

Wade somehow managed to curl in on himself more. "I made it awkward."

Nate was far too tired and concerned about Wade to follow along. "You made what awkward?"

"Us. This morning, when you got back," Wade said. "I said some stuff, and I made things weird."

"Oh," Nate said, the memory coming back to him. "Yeah, I guess you kinda did."

Wade nodded and reached for the cupboard door, pulling it shut with a little click.

"Um. _No,_ " Nate pulled the door open again, and then blocked Wade from closing himself off by sitting down on the floor with him. "I'm a little concerned about you choosing to hide inside the cupboard with a gun."

"I didn't know your gun was in here, and I didn't use it, obviously," Wade said. "I remembered what you said. About not hurting myself. So I didn't. Happy?"

"Yes. I'm glad you didn't hurt yourself, Wade."

"Can I go back to my shame cupboard now?"

"No. I think you've been in there long enough with those boxes. Talk to me. Please."

Wade was quiet for a long time. "I know," he sighed. Then, as if replying to someone, "I don't think sharks will help."

"Wade?" Nate questioned. 

"Okay, fine. I was joking earlier and I went too far and made it weird and I'm sorry," Wade blurted out all at once.

"Apology accepted," Nate said. "But I think you're overreacting, Wade. I knew it was a joke. I just wanted to go to bed. Sorry that I wasn't clear about that."

"No. No, you were clear," Wade said, his fingers tapping anxiously against his knees. "You were uncomfortable. And I wasn't just joking. Not really. I mean I was, but aside from that."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean it's not a joke. I had prostate cancer. I had all the cancer, and I was young. You're like… _balls_ old, Nate."

Only Wade could sound so sincere and yet so insulting at the same time, to the point where Nate almost felt like he'd wandered into a long joke setup just to be called old as the punchline.

"I thought this was an apology."

"Do your X-Benefits cover an X-Doctor?"

Strangely enough, it was the half-joking follow-up question that made Nate realize Wade really wasn't joking after all.

"Jesus, Wade. Yes, I can see a doctor," Nate assured him. "But I don't need to. Trust me. I have both the privilege and misfortune of knowing exactly what is going on with my body at every given moment of every day," Nate explained. "This techno-organic virus has been in my system my entire life, and it's never stopped trying to consume me. Cell by cell. So I'm always painfully aware of my health status."

"Is that why you're always doing yoga and trying to make me eat tofu?"

"Fuck off, Wade, that was one time."

"And I haven't let you live it down since!"

"No, you haven't, you brat. Suit yourself." Nate got to his feet and shut the cupboard door. 

From inside, there was a soft, offended, " _Hey._ "

"When you're done moping, I'll be waiting for you on the couch," Nate said, taking an apple from the kitchen counter and walking off.

"Waiting for me? Why?" Wade asked.

Nate didn’t answer. He folded himself up on the couch and waited. He heard the cupboard open and Wade fall out onto the floor.

"Nate?" Wade asked again, awkwardly scrambling to his feet. "Why are you waiting for me?"

Nate stopped him before he could leave the kitchen. "Don't you dare come out here until you've put everything back where you found it."

"Ohmygod," Wade muttered. "Okay."

After a couple long minutes of food being stuffed back into the cupboard and tupperware clattering across the floor repeatedly, Wade finally succeeded in putting everything back. He shut the door and then padded over to Nate, draping himself over the back of the couch.

"Why wait?" he asked again.

"I'm just tired. Talk about something," Nate requested.

"What? Why? Talk about what?"

"Anything," Nate shrugged. "I just wanna listen to you talk."

"People… don't… usually _ask_ for that," Wade said, bewildered. "You're kinda putting me on the spot. Now I don't know what to say."

"If you don't wanna talk, that's fine," Nate shrugged, biting into his apple.

"No, I do! Agh! I had two conversations going in my head simultaneously earlier, but do you think that anything comes to mind now? Of course not."

"Performance anxiety?" 

"Don't laugh! It happens to a lot of guys," Wade protested, his hands gesturing wildly as he spoke. "It'll happen to you too! You'll be ready for action, raring to go, and then, boom. Flaccid. Tank's empty. Kaput. Totally stalled. Wait, I got something. Yellow box is coming through in the clutch."

Nate gave Wade a concerned look, while the mercenary stared off into space, as if listening. Then he started babbling.

" _According to all known laws of aviation, there is no way a bee should be able to fly. Its wings are too small to get its fat little body off the ground. The bee, of course, flies anyway because bees don't care what humans think is impossible. Yellow, black. Yellow, black. Yellow, black. Yellow_ \-- Oh god, no, this is the Bee Movie script."

"The what?"

"Sorry, I'm-- It's still going," Wade said, smacking the side of his head the way someone might smack an old TV to try to get the signal to clear up. "I don't wanna listen to this anymore. Can we put on the white noise channel? That was always my favorite one as a kid. Hah, inside joke, 'cuz when I was a kid, our old rabbit ears TV only picked up three stations and two of them were all fuzz all the time." Wade made a static sound as he climbed over the back of the couch, and then half fell into Nate's lap.

"You could've gone around," Nate pointed out, grunting as Wade tried to sort out his limbs and make himself comfortable.

"Boring," Wade said, finally settling his head on Nate's knee. "Can you do a soft reset? If not, just knock me the fuck out, that's fine. Boxes are just getting uppity again. Not in a totally bad way, though. I think Yellow's starting to take after me and White's starting to take after you."

"Yellow talks a lot and White is an asshole?" Nate guessed, trying to translate what Wade meant.

"No. Yellow is like, hey, you could solve your problems by feeding yourself to sharks! And then White is all, ohh no, don't do that, Nate wouldn't like that!"

"I can confirm, Nate would not like that," Nate agreed.

"Killjoy," Wade muttered. "And then Yellow gets fixated on something, and then White gets going because Yellow is a terrible influence, and now they're both quoting lines from The Princess Bride. Which is a great movie but I can't hear myself talking."

"That's probably a little much," Nate agreed. "I can do a soft reset. You'll have to take the mask off, though."

"Pffft. What kind of Charles Xavier wannabe weak-ass telepath can be blocked by a millimeter of Spandex?"

"Do you want the static channel in your head or do you want to get dumped onto the floor? The choice is yours."

"Fine, but don't look. Pretty sure the artist used _me_ as the warm-up doodle today and they were still hungover from the night before," Wade mumbled. He turned to face away from Nate, pulling up the mask and flinging it away.

Nate wasn't sure what the hell Wade was talking about, but he got the gist that Wade was feeling self-conscious about his skin. He could only really see the back of Wade's head, and the side of his face, but it just looked more textured than usual. When he slid his fingertips over Wade's skin, it was still as soft as anything. Not at all like the rough patches of metal zippered into his own flesh.

"What's soft?" Wade asked, and Nate froze up for a second, cursing inwardly, wondering how much he'd accidentally projected. He focused instead on creating a soft static for Wade. "Seashell!" Wade cried, putting his hand over Nate's and holding it against his ear. "Could you add a sound, like waves crashing against a beach?"

Nate obliged, and Wade made a weird noise like he was dying. "Holy shit, that's good. Will you sleep with me? I mean -- wait. Fuck. I mean, sleep as in _sleep_. Because this would be really nice to fall asleep to. Not sleep as in having sex. Not that I'd say no to that, if you're down. Oh, fuck, you're from the year 3000, you probably didn't even know that 'sleeping with someone' is a euphemism for playing naked Twister. Which is another euphemism."

"No, that's still a euphemism," Nate assured him, smiling to himself as Wade panicked more.

"Oh. Fuck _me_ ," Wade groaned, dropping his hand. "Wait, no. Not sexually. Because 'fuck' is versatile, like me, and it means a lot of things besides just sex. You can't read my thoughts, right? Is the game Twister still a thing in the year 3000? And would half a ton of techno-organic metal be an advantage to winning, or a disadvantage? Okay, turn off the static, I'd rather listen to an hour and a half of terrible bee puns than hear myself talking right now."

"No, this is entertaining," Nate assured him, petting Wade's head. "And don't worry. I remember that one of your conditions to us moving in together was that I had to promise not to fuck you."

" _No._ See that's-- Fuck is a versatile word! I meant don't _screw_ me. Holy shit, no, not that either. I meant don't betray me! We were talking about you handling the money in this relationship. In that context, I meant don't betray me. You have to pay attention to the _context_ , Nate!"

"Honestly, sometimes I don't understand half the things that come out of your mouth," Nate said, still running his fingers over Wade's head. "I just like listening to it."

"So you didn't even understand half of what I just said?" Wade asked.

"I have no idea what Twister is. But if you're wondering whether the TO would be an advantage or disadvantage, and people playing it naked would be a sex euphemism, then I'm guessing it's a game that involves physical contact of some sort. Other than that, I followed everything just fine."

"You're such an asshole," Wade mumbled. "And now I wanna buy a game of Twister, because having you miss out on a staple of lower to upper-lower class American family game nights is just _criminal_."

"I think you could download something onto your phone," Nate suggested.

"What? How the hell do you play Twister on your phone? We'd still need the dots--"

"I'm talking about the white noise," Nate said, bringing Wade back to the original topic. "They make apps for your phone, to help people sleep. Waves, too. And rain."

"Yeah, see, I don't like rain so much anymore," Wade said, putting his hand over Nate's, as if afraid he'd take it away. "I like this better. It's like it's inside my head. I guess because it is. But it's like I'm there. At the ocean. I haven't been in ages. We should go sometime. Maybe not around here, though. I heard the water around here is how the Lizard got mutated. Maybe somewhere nicer, like Maine. But we'd have to go during the one week in July when it's actually hot up there."

"I don't know. I don't do beaches," Nate said. Wade rolled over in his lap, giving him a look like he'd just kicked his puppy. "Sand and salt water don't mix with metal," he explained.

"Yeah, well, sun and bathing suits don't mix with aggressive, disfiguring cancer!"

"I guess we're not going then," Nate said.

Wade raised his nonexistent eyebrows at that and sat up, putting his back against the opposite arm of the couch. He put his feet up, planting them against Nate's side. Then he used his legs to push him as hard as he could. "Get out of my bed."

"Fucking hell," Nate grumbled, grabbing Wade's bare feet with his hands. It was a solid struggle to keep Wade from kicking him. "I guess we'll _go_ sometime, despite our mutually horrific disabilities," he amended. 

Wade pulled his feet away. "Mine's worse."

"Your wounds heal and you can't die," Nate said. "I have to constantly focus my abilities to keep the virus at bay, and every time I get wounded it has the opportunity to gain significant ground. When it consumes too much of my body, I'll die. And it will, eventually."

Wade bit his bottom lip, eyes narrowing stubbornly. "Yeah, but at least you're _hot_."

"You're impossible," Nate scoffed. Wade kicked at him again, but Nate caught him by the ankle and refused to let go, leaving Wade awkwardly sprawled on the couch with one foot in Nate's lap.

"It's too bad we can't combine powers," Wade said.

"What do you mean?"

"My cancer and your disco-orgasmic virus could sixty-nine each other to death," Wade said, wiggling his foot in Nate's grasp. "Then just imagine what we could do with my healing factor and your psychic powers combined. No constant, debilitating pain on my end. No constant drain on your focus. We'd be the ultimate fusion."

"How the hell would that happen?"

"I dunno. Wonder Twins powers, activate!" Wade lurched forward, stretching his hands out to Nate, but he couldn't quite reach.

"I don't think it works that way," Nate said, as Wade slumped back.

"Wanna try sticking parts of me in a blender?"

"I'd rather not ruin the blender," Nate answered. He still hadn't let go of Wade's foot, and now his fingers were slowly stroking over Wade's skin, in what Wade suspected was an entirely unconscious rhythm. But while Nate might not have realized what he was doing, Wade couldn't focus on anything else. His skin was way too sensitive, and when Nate's hands were touching him, Wade's entire world narrowed down to just that.

"I think you might be right," Nate said, sounding thoughtful. 

"That my terminal illness is worse than yours? Yeah, I know."

"No. I mean, there are parts of us that are better together," Nate said, still fondling Wade's foot.

Wade couldn't stop his leg from moving involuntarily, almost as if he were trying to jerk away, and after the second involuntary twitch, Nate released him.

"Sorry," Nate said, remembering what Wade had said about constant debilitating pain.

"Sorry for what? Why'd you stop?" Wade asked, prodding his heel against Nate's thigh.

"Doesn't it hurt?" Nate questioned, trying to focus on the pattern of cats flying through the colorful cosmos on Wade's boxers instead of the long stretch of bare skin draped across his lap. The cats were judging him.

"My skin is all overstimulated nerve endings. I always hurt," Wade said. "You touching me is the one thing that _doesn't_. Come on. What is it you said? Turnabout is fair play? I rubbed your back for you, you can rub my feet for half a minute. Or just my ankles. Or anything."

"I just didn't want to cause you pain," Nate said, taking Wade's foot in his hands again.

"Want me to get the massage oil so you can do me on your bed? My back, I mean. Do me on my back."

Nate grinned at the slip-up, and the two very different, yet very similar mental images. He stuck with the slightly more innocent option; Wade lying on his stomach, all bare skin ready for Nate to touch, to give him the same relief that Wade had been willing to give. But he already knew that if their roles were reversed in that situation, with Wade the one underneath him, it would only end poorly for both of them. 

"This is fine," he said.

This time, Nate started doing a proper massage, but as soon as he rubbed his thumbs along the underside of Wade's foot, his leg started spasming wildly.

"F-f- _fuck_ ," Wade gasped out.

"See, I don't know if that's a good thing or if you're just lying about--" Nate stopped talking when Wade pulled his legs away from him and sat up abruptly.

"Time out. I gotta -- BRB," Wade said, getting up and leaving.

Nate tried to figure out what he'd done wrong, and also what the heck 'BRB' meant. He quickly decided it must mean 'bathroom break' because Wade had disappeared into the bathroom and was in there for a while.

He should've known better than to take Wade's word for it when it came to pain. He hadn't thought he'd pressed very hard, but Wade was a notorious liar when it came to his own comfort. Nate had witnessed firsthand Wade having an arm cut off and laughing all the while. It was an effective tactic against enemies, but as Wade's friend it scared the hell out of him. And it was a lot less funny when he had to help Wade reattach the limb later, holding it in place with duct tape until the healing factor kicked in. It was faster than waiting for the limb to regrow, but he'd noticed Wade suffer with nerve damage and pain for several hours after. Suffer quietly, of course, because Wade had whistled and chattered and carried on as usual. It was only the flinching and the loss of strength in his hand that had given him away, and only because Nate was paying attention.

That made him think about when he wasn't paying attention before. When he thought Wade had no real feelings, that he could feel no pain, emotionally or physically.

When Wade came back, Nate watched him carefully, trying to pick up on the subtle cues of the pain that Wade was obviously hiding. 

The other man looked a little bit worn out, a little more subdued. When he flopped onto the couch he stayed away from Nate and pulled his blanket over himself. Then he caught Nate studying him. His eyes narrowed into a glare. "Why are you looking at me like that? _You're_ the one who said I didn't need to worry about you knowing about -- y'know!"

Nate tried to process what Wade meant, but as usual, his own mind felt incredibly slow trying to catch up to Wade's mental gymnastics. The only conversation that vaguely fit what Wade was talking about was right after Nate had accidentally walked in on Wade masturbating, and he'd encourage him to--.

Oh. _Oh._

He'd definitely read Wade wrong.

"So… when you said your skin is all overstimulated nerve endings, you meant it," Nate said.

Wade went into prickly defense mode. "Hey, I didn't _ask_ you to give me a footjob. I mean, I did, sorta, but I didn't ask you to do sexual things to my foot with your slutty, slutty hands."

"Are you seriously slut-shaming my hands right now?"

"Yes? No." Wade slumped in his seat. "I didn't expect that either, okay? Can we just get to the Netflix and chill part of 'Netflix and chill'?"

"Alright," Nate agreed, taking it as a cue that Wade just wasn't ready to talk about anything right now. Honestly, he wasn't sure he was, either. He still needed a little bit of time to process how he felt about Wade. Or rather, process how to handle him. He was still learning how to follow Wade's thought patterns and moods. Learning how Wade liked to be touched wasn't something Nate had anticipated. He wondered what would've happened if Wade hadn't left. If Wade had let Nate keep touching him. If he'd at least been allowed to watch.

Nate turned on the TV and started scrolling through shows. The remote was still sitting on the coffee table, untouched.

"Cheater," Wade accused.

"Remotes are garbage technology--"

"Says the guy with nearly limitless applications for his telep-- technikine-- his spooky _brain powers _and chooses to use them to control the TV. _Remotely_."__

__"Do you want to Netflix and chill or do you want to end up on the floor?"_ _

__"Depends. Are you gonna be on the floor with me?"_ _

__"That wasn't what I had in mind, but the floor's fine with me," Nate replied._ _

__Wade gave him a wary side-long look. "Nate, please. You're old, your back will give out. You can stay in my bed."_ _

__Nate rolled his eyes. "Oh, thank you for having mercy on my old bones."_ _

__"What's that in your recommended? _Nailed It?_ Sounds like a porn."_ _

__"It's an amateur cooking--"_ _

__Wade leaned forward, snatching the remote from the table and selecting the show before Nate could do otherwise. "All I heard was 'amateur.' Sounds hot."_ _

__"Idiot," Nate muttered, but not without some affection._ _

__

__x_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to TheCandy for suggesting the show Nailed It :)
> 
> Fanart for this chapter: [Wade bandaging Nate](http://guardiandae.tumblr.com/post/183648122881/commissioned-from-the-very-talented-and-sweet), by [freudette](http://freudette.tumblr.com)
> 
> [Cupboard boy Wade](http://koto-squeals.tumblr.com/post/177824618456/cupboard-boy-wade-wade-nodded-and-reached-for-the), by [koto-squeals](http://koto-squeals.tumblr.com/)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is about ice cream tacos. But not really.  
> It's more like a taco-shaped metaphor, full of love, and sprinkled with foreshadowing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Required listening material for this chapter: [Don't Stop Me Now - Queen](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DxQK_ARQmMY)  
>   
> 

Wade didn't remember falling asleep, only that sometime in the dead of night he woke up lying across the couch with his sheets tucked in around him. He rolled over, burrowed himself into his nice warm cocoon, and went back to sleep.

When he woke up again, Wade did the same thing, this time hiding from the morning sun brightening the apartment.

And then again.

And once more for good measure.

Wade would've happily slept in until at least noon, but it seemed like his traitorous body had other ideas. It wasn't even ten in the morning when he opened his eyes again, but this time he was inexplicably wide awake and he actually felt rested. And happy. And worse -- half inclined to get up for the day and  _ do _ stuff. Gross.

This had Nate's terrible influence written all over it.  _ Nate  _ was supposed to be the morning person. In fact, he was probably already up doing morning meditation or tantric yoga or eating organic flax seeds or whatever-the-fuck. Come to think of it, Nate's solarpunk hippie routine was probably what kept waking Wade up in the first place.

But when Wade sat up, he realized that Nate wasn't around anywhere. The kitchen seemed untouched, his boots were still here, and his bedroom door was shut, but knowing Nate, he'd probably be out soon.

Wade got up, went to the bathroom, and later fumbled his way through opening a can of Spaghetti O's for breakfast. He was so sure that just the pop of the lid would summon Nate from his room, but he still hadn't come out. Usually he had a sixth sense when it came to knowing when Wade was eating food that he considered questionable. Stir together a package of pop rocks and a box of mac n' cheese and he was sure to appear. But not today.

**_(Something's wrong,)_** the Yellow box piped up, trying to worm its way into Wade's head with vague anxieties about Nate being sick, or mad at him, or dead. But as soon as Wade recognized the vague shadows of those thoughts, he flapped his hand at the air as if to physically disrupt the yellow boxes before they could form.

"No, no, he's sleeping in. Let him sleep. Nate's only half machine which means he's full human and human peoples get tired and sometimes you just need to sleep in."

But on the days when Nate slept in, he always came out looking more tired than ever, and there'd be this distance in his eyes that he never wanted to talk about. So Wade talked instead. And he gave Nate coffee to help him wake up, because Nate liked coffee, and he especially liked when Wade made him coffee for some reason, even if somehow Wade almost always found grounds in the bottom of his mug. Maybe Nate was just nice, despite Wade being garbage at everything. He was good at talking, though. He'd keep talking until that distance in Nate didn't seem so great anymore, and Nate would finally not just look at him, but actually _ see _ him, and when Nate smiled it was like sunlight coming through the fog.

"Coffee. Coffee coffee coffee," Wade mumbled to himself, twirling around to prep the pot. "Coffee makes everything better."

**_[How so?]_ ** his little White box inquired.

"Coffee makes Nate happy. And when Nate's happy, everything is good. Really good. Really, really good."

**_(Really? Wonder why that is.)_ **

**_[Needs more scientific data. Make a happy Nate and let's test this hypothesis.]_ **

"One pot of water. One scoopy thing of ground beans. Aaaand presto. We wait for the beans to infuse the water with their magical life-giving goodness."

**_[By 'magical' of course you mean 'caffeinated'.]_ **

"Yes. Caffeine good. And with this much caffeinated coffee, we're gonna have a real good time."

**_(Tonight, we're gonna have ourselves a real good time.)_ **

But first it had to boil. And brew. And any other fancy coffee related verbs. Steeping. Did coffee steep or was that only for tea? Wade folded his arms on the countertop and watched while the coffee maker did its thing, which wasn't a whole heckin' lot to look at at first. And he waited for Nate to show any signs of life. And drummed his fingers against the counter because it was something noisy to keep the anxiety from creeping in. And then the drumming led to humming and the next thing he knew he had a song from Queen stuck in his head for no reason at all whatsoever.

**_[Funny how that works.]_ **

**_(Don't! Stop. Me. Nowwww…)_ **

"'Cause I'm having a good time, having a good time--!"

Humming was more efficient, because he didn't really remember all the words, and also quieter because he really didn't want to accidentally piss Nate off instead. When the coffee maker finally started spluttering out black liquid, Wade started over from the top, as much as he could remember, and after he and the coffee both finished, he started humming through the chorus again, this time at double speed.

"Don't stop me now! If you wanna have a good time-- Just give me a call! 

**_(Don't stop me now!)_ **

"'Cause I'm having a good time. Don't stop me, yes, I'm having a good--"

Wade turned around and suddenly Nate was standing there by the counter, watching him, and oh sweet baby Thor  _ why _ and also when did Nate get up and also  _ why?! _

"Don't stop now," Nate teased, his voice still rough from sleep as a slow grin spread over his face, and it was entirely unfair for someone to look so sexy while they were still half dressed, hair rumpled from bed. He probably had morning breath to boot, and Wade still felt punched in the gut.

**_[Does he know it's illegal to stare at people with those fuck-me eyes?]_ **

Wade kept his lips pinched together against the thought, eyes going wide while Nate's amusement melted into mild concern.

"How much did you hear?" Wade asked.

"Of you singing? All of it."

Wade let out a breath, half relieved and half mortified. At least the boxes were still in check. Good job, self care!

"I didn't mean to wake you up," Wade said instead, trying to recall how loud he'd been. He'd tried to be quiet, or at least he thought so, but now he couldn't even remember.

But Nate just shrugged it off. "You didn't. I've been awake for a while. This fresh?" he asked, looking at the pot of coffee.

"Couldn't be much fresher," Wade answered, still regarding Nate doubtfully. "I figured you'd -- you know -- you'd want some."

"I'd love some, thanks," Nate answered, already taking a mug out of the cupboard. 

Wade watched him as he poured the fresh brew, somewhat skeptical of Nate's contented mood.

"You seem… happy."

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"I dunno. Just, usually when you sleep in late you're not always in a great mood," Wade said.

Nate paused as he grabbed some creamer from the fridge. "Mm. I didn't really sleep in late."

"Um. Bullshit, I woke up before you and that never happens. You're always up doing something annoying. Meditating."

"Meditating silently is annoying?" Nate raised an eyebrow while he stirred sugar into his coffee, setting the cream into swirls of varying shades of brown.

_ "Yes?  _ And you weren't today so I was worried, but you don't need to lie about it okay? I'm pretty sure I know you well enough by now to know better."

"Just because I was in my room doesn't mean I wasn't awake."

"Meditating?" Wade questioned.

Nate's mouth twisted into an amused smile as he brought the edge of the mug to his lips. "Sure, if that's the euphemism we're going for.  _ Hands-on _ meditation," he quipped, and then took a sip while Wade slightly lost his mind.

"What?" ' _ Hands on?'  _ That sounded a lot like a masturbation metaphor, but that didn't compute. 

**_(I WANNA MAKE A SUPERSONIC MAN OUT OF YOU!)_ **

**_[Don't stop me nowwww.]_ **

Holy fuck, stop.

"Wait. What?"

"I told you," Nate said, slowly. "When I feel the urge, I take care of my needs. You said so yourself, we're two grown men living under the same roof. I don't know why I need to explain myself to you."

"Right. Why are you?" Wade asked, his head dizzy with it.

"Because it doesn't really bother me. And I think it's healthy to be able to talk about stuff like this," Nate said, regarding Wade with some continued level of concern while he watched the gears churn in the other man's head. 

"Right. Right," Wade repeated, and logically he knew it was right, but his brain kept blanking out every time he tried to grapple with the reality of it. It was one thing to have the vague, nebulous idea that Nate played whack-a-mole in an unknown 'once in a while', but it was entirely different to know, for certain, that he had been in nearly the same spacetime as a horny Nathan Summers, with only a wall separating the two of them.

"So every time… every time you 'slept in' you were really just spanking it?"

Nate gave him a slightly disapproving but no less amused look.

"No."

"Playing the flesh flute."

"No."

"Jerkin' your gherkin."

Nate snorted.  _ "No.  _ God, no. That's funny, though. No. I don't usually wake up in the mood, actually."

"More of a bedtime routine?" Wade questioned, but he wasn't even entirely sure how he'd managed to have enough air in his lungs to get the words out.

"Sometimes. It's more random for me, I guess. Sometimes I'm not really in the mood, necessarily, but it's a good stress release. What about you? I mean, before you had someone else interrupting your routine. What would be normal for you?"

"It varies," Wade answered, hesitant as first, but Nate didn't seem to be putting any pressure on his answer. Just two people comparing what was 'normal', and maybe he needed that. Sometimes he wasn't quite sure what 'normal' was anymore. "Once before bed, usually. But if I'm tired, usually don't feel the need. But other times, I'm so wound up, I could go a few times before it's enough."

Nate nodded in understanding, and then simply stood there leaning against the counter, still looking a bit sleepy. He held his coffee between his hands like it was a sacred object. Metal fingers gently folded over flesh. Just the sight of them made Wade's stomach twist up in weird knots, and he forced himself to look away and definitely  _ not  _ think about how Nate's hands would feel wrapped around his -- or how  _ thick  _ his fingers --

"God, no, bad!" Wade swatted at the thoughts before they could manifest. He didn't need to fantasize about his roommate. He really, really didn't. Not  _ in front of  _ the guy!

"You okay?" Nate asked.

"Just, uh. Boxes. Getting uppity," Wade lied.

**_(What the hell, man?)_ ** Yellow complained, and Wade actually felt a little guilty, but mentally pleaded with them to just be cool.

"Is it bad?" Nate asked, his fingers curling against the mug on reflex, trying to remind himself not to touch.

"No, I'm good," Wade said, feigning nonchalance. "Can I ask you an incredibly invasive personal question?"

Nate furrowed his brow a little, but otherwise didn't particularly bat an eye. "Only if I can ask you one," he countered.

Wade balked a little, but only for a second. They were both guys. He could ask Nate whatever, and he'd probably answer him truthfully.

**_[How big is it?]_ **

That one. Might be harder to explain away.

"Which hand do you use?" Wade asked instead, covering his nerves with false bravado. He made a lewd hand gesture to clarify, which had the added benefit of making the question more like a perverse joke. Somehow that was better. It was easier to joke than ask it sincerely. "You know, when you're churning butter? Do you use the flesh hand, or do you prefer the TO…?"

Wade trailed off slightly, losing his bravado under Nate's unwavering stare. Nate didn't seem wholly annoyed, nor amused, but somewhere in between, and entirely incredulous about all of the posturing. If Nate had so much as lifted an eyebrow, Wade would have claimed forfeit in an instant, but Nate just… stared at him, both tired and somehow fond. Wade didn't dare to look away, at least not yet. He deserved to have to face his shame. 

Then Nate moved, lifting his right hand and touching Wade's face. Warm skin pressing against his. It was the boring option. At least, it was the option that he'd thought would be boring. But as soon as Nate's fingertips gently pressed against his skin, it was pure electric heat.

_ That's the hand he used,  _ Wade realized, the thought crystalizing somewhere between dread and a whimper of arousal. Nate's hand was warm, and Wade could almost smell the heat from his skin. It should probably be gross. It wasn't. 

"Now I can ask  _ you _ a question," Nate said, his voice a little lower than usual. His eyes flickered slightly downward, and Wade felt a brief relief from that perceptive gaze that seemed capable of peering into his shriveled up little walnut of a soul. But more bizarrely, Wade felt as if Nate was staring at his mouth. In the same instant, before he could even assess or dismiss that thought, Nate's thumb was suddenly, slowly, sweeping against his bottom lip.

Wade barely had time to react. The tip of his tongue came out on instinct, but he tasted his own lip instead of the pad of Nate's thumb, and oh boy, that was a whole wormhole of disappointment in itself. And then Nate's eyes were on his again, all molten brown and he felt too-too hot while the corners of Nate's eyes crinkled up with an easy grin.

"What do you want for dinner?"

Oh. That was all a tease and he was so  _ easy  _ for it and it wasn't even fair because he wasn't even mad about it. Like, at all. Wade made a soft, somewhat inhuman noise and thought about it while Nate took another sip of his coffee.

_ "Tacos con helado." _

"Ice cream tacos?"

"Yeah, yeah,  _ en inglés: _ ice cream tacos," Wade nodded, his head bobbing along as if to an imaginary tempo as he walked away to go rummage through the fridge.

Nate gave Wade a moment to clarify, but when no further explanation was forthcoming, he pressed on without him.  "So. Hard taco shell. Meat. Taco seasoning. Salsa. Lettuce, tomato, shredded cheese. And then an enormous scoop of vanilla ice cream instead of sour cream?"

Wade looked like he hadn't been entirely listening, but the last part of Nate's sentence caught his attention suddenly. "What? No. Well. Maybe," he added, and sometimes just watching Wade trying to process his own thoughts was a form of entertainment all in itself. Nate waited while Wade's facial expressions shifted from confusion, to consideration, to disgust, and then finally to deep thought.

"No. You absolute madman," Wade scolded, with an air of reverence. He balanced three containers of leftovers between his hands and deposited them onto the counter, picking through them out of what seemed more like boredom than hunger while he continued. "It's more like-- So it's like a taco but it's like an ice cream that's taco shaped, you know? Like it's not a corn shell, it's a waffle cone, but not a  _ cone _ but a…" he held up his hand in a 'U' shape.

"Taco," Nate supplied, unable to suppress his amusement.

"I  _ guess? _ Feels like there ought to be another word for that geometric shape. Anyway, like  _ that, _ but instead of meat we could have Oreos, and instead of lettuce we could have Fruit Rollups, and instead of tomatoes we could have cherries, and instead of shredded cheese we could have Big League Chew gum, and instead of taco sauce we could have  _ chocolate _ sauce, and instead of sour cream we could have, like you said, ice cream.  _ Voilà. _ Ice cream tacos."

"So what you're saying is you want ice cream sundaes," Nate summarized.

That made Wade look confused again and then offended. "No. Did you not listen to anything I just said?"

"I did, and all I heard is a lot of candy and honestly my teeth already hurt just thinking about all of that sugar," Nate said. "But if that's what you want tonight, we can pick it up and you can knock yourself out, but tomorrow I'm force feeding you vegetables."

"It's not about candy, it's about  _ geometry,"  _ Wade said, holding his hand up in that 'U' shape again, and shaking it in the air for emphasis. "It's like you don't even understand me at all."

"I'm doing my best without the instruction manual," Nate replied calmly, and Wade snorted at that. Nate picked up the bottle of creamer from the counter and stuck it into Wade's still upraised hand. "Put that away for me?"

_ "Si cariño," _ Wade purred, scooping up the other containers he'd taken out and putting them all back into the fridge at once with a clatter.

He'd just finished settling everything again when his cellphone started ringing, Frank Sinatra's  _ Strangers In The Night _ playing. The ringtone Wade had set for numbers that weren't added to his contact list.

Wade hopped over the back of the couch and rummage through the cushions to find his phone, looked at the number for a second, then sat back and hit 'answer'.

"Human Torch Crematorium, you kill 'em we grill 'em."

Nate heard a confused male voice on the other side, faintly asking,  _ "Uhm. Is this Deadpool?" _

Instead of answering, Wade pulled the phone away from his ear, staring at it for a second, and then set it down on the couch and got up.

_ "Hello? The person I got this number from said--" _

Nate almost asked what was wrong, but in a few seconds Wade came back with his Deadpool mask on.

"Yeah, this is Deadpool, you pay I slay."

Nate finished his coffee, rinsed out the mug, and went to the bathroom while Wade spoke to the client on the phone. He'd learned a while ago that trying to listen in almost wasn't worth the sheer confusion and aggravation. All he caught were nonsensical pieces of Wade's end of the conversation, with phrases like,  _ '50 smackaroonis'  _ and  _ 'Are we talking Seychellois or Sri Lanka, because the difference is my foot in your ass. Oh, you said 'groupies'? I don't accept that as currency.' _ and _ 'Yeah, but have you ever tried to disembowel a man with the gastrosplenic integrity of an elephant?' _ and  _ 'I just like spleens.' _

It was better not to ask. Really.

Nate waited until Wade hung up the phone and watched him jump up onto the couch and do a violently awkward little happy dance.

"Yeah! YEAH!!! No more Couchpool, baby! Hello Pouchpool!"

"Job?" Nate asked, although it felt redundant at this point.

"Job!" Wade launched himself off the couch and started both stripping off items of clothing and putting on pieces of his mercenary-come-superhero costume.

"Ethical?" Nate pressed, while Wade tugged his pants on over his boxers. They were covered with little cartoon foxes wearing bowties. Cute.

"Paying," Wade countered, but Nate knew better than to lecture Wade about ethics. It was hard to ever have the moral high ground against the guy who had to stop him from shooting an actual child.

"Real money?"

"Better be, or this boot?" Wade tried to lift his boot to point at it, while simultaneously putting it on, and needless to say he tripped over himself. "Is becoming an improvised suppository. I'm not falling for Monopoly money again. 'New Canadian treasury' my ass."

"I'm not gonna have to rescue you from a black market organ farm, am I?"

"You joke, but if we ever fell on hard times, which one of us is going to be able to donate 50 spleens to keep us in this lavish lifestyle?"

Nate laughed. "What is it with you and spleens?"

"I just like spleens! It's fun to say. Spleen. Spleeny."

"Will you be home in time for dinner, or rain check?" Nate asked.

"Yeah, should be," Wade answered, somewhat distractedly as he fiddled with his pouches. "Easy peasy lemon squeezy."

"Alright. Well, I'm gonna take a shower. Write down exactly what you want on the grocery list before you leave, or you're getting nothing."

"Okay. Okay. Can do, buckaroo."

Nate rolled his eyes and went to take a shower, listening to Wade's ruckus for several more minutes until finally Wade shouted,  _ "Later, gator!" _ and the front door slammed shut and everything was silent.

God, he was way too fond of that sweet, dumb idiot. It wasn't like they needed money right now. Not while they were living well below their means. But Wade definitely needed something productive to do, and Nate couldn't deny how happy it made Wade to get an actual job. And more funds could never  _ hurt.  _ He only hoped that it was legit, and that whoever hired Wade didn't have any ulterior motives. If they so much as hurt his _ feelings,  _ heaven help them.

Nate showered, and dressed, and went to grab the grocery list before he left for the day. But when he looked it over, his fondness for Wade evaporated into ire.

"That fucking asshole," Nate sighed. He'd asked Wade to do one thing.  _ One.  _ Just write down the fucking ingredients that he wanted. Nate wasn't a mind reader. At least, frustratingly enough,  **_not_ ** _ when it came to  _ **_Wade,_ ** _ of all people!  _ He needed clear communication to understand what the fuck went on in Wade's dumpster-in-a-tornado clusterfuck of a mind.

Instead, Wade had just drawn a fucking picture of a taco with two little arrows pointing at it, one on top and one on bottom. The top arrow was pointing at the filling, with the words, "ice cream" written next to it. The bottom arrow was pointing at the taco shell and was labeled with a word that has never fucking existed in the entire English language. Even Google had no idea what the  _ fuck _ he was talking about.

Nate had half a mind to tear it off the list and throw it away. Wade could eat a bag of frozen tater tots for all he cared. But he glared at the word again, trying to will himself to understand the conglomeration of letters Wade had smashed together, and then stuffed the list into his pocket and texted Wade as he headed out to the X Mansion for duty.

_ Nate: wtf is 'foldoundular'? _

It took a full half hour before Wade answered him.

_ Wade: There's no word for the geometric shape of a taco so I made one. Folded + round = foldound. _

_ Wade: Circle, foldound. Circular, foldoundular. Noun, adjective. _

Nate was slightly annoyed that Wade's logic was actually starting to make sense to him, but he couldn't buy a fucking  _ shape _ at the grocery store.

_ Nate: What toppings do you want, idiot? _

_ Wade: idc it's not about the toppings it's about the energy _

"'I don't care'? Are you kidding me?" Nate grumbled to himself.

_ Nate: wtf are you talking about _

_ Wade: like 'big dick energy' _

_ Wade: ice cream taco energy _

Yeah, that answered nothing. Any answers that the internet provided him with only made him more confused. He googled 'ice cream taco' and actually found a product that was, in fact, a waffle cone shell filled with ice cream. There were also waffle shells. He sent one of the photos to Wade.

_ Wade: oh wow they exist? _

_ Wade: yeah something like that _

_ Nate: something? _

_ Wade: the stores around here dont have those though _

_ Wade: but it doesn't need to be boxed you could make it and it'd be better _

_ Nate: I can't make a waffle cone _

_ Wade: it's not a cone _

_ Wade: it's sacred geometry _

_ Wade: and also ice cream _

_ Nate: I'm buying you a pint of ice cream and you can fuck off _

_ Wade: that's not the same thing _

Jesus, he was aggravating. Nate turned his phone off and resolved to ignore him.

The mansion was quiet when Nate arrived, aside from the kids running through the halls. There was no mission to go on, no emergency, unless something happened to come up. At least, nothing that he was assigned to today.

Logan wasn't kidding when he'd said that the X Mansion was in need of extra hands. The whole world was, really, but as Logan put it, 'We need to look after our own,' and Nate agreed wholeheartedly. Helping civilians was part of the job, but their own kids needed full-time support. And there were a lot of kids in varying ages, even after the Event. Some had vanished along with half of the world's population, but they couldn't focus on the ones that were gone. They had to focus on the ones that were still around. It was a blessing that they still had so many, really, but it was also a lot to deal with. He wasn't exactly qualified to handle anything that they'd need a therapist for, but a lot of them just needed to be in the physical presence of someone else and have something to do to keep their minds busy, and that Nate could offer.

When it came to working with the kids, newcomers like Nate weren't allowed to watch them alone, and for that he was actually grateful. He was paired up with Logan, who was one of the few people he could at least stand to be around. 

Logan left Negasonic in charge of kids, had Nate follow him outside onto the lawn and explained their objective in short, gruff sentences.

"We're gonna build soccer goals. Kids play soccer. We drink beer and make sure they don't accidentally kill each other."

Straightforward. Clear objectives. Nate liked that. And he appreciated that the equipment was already set to go, and that he merely existed as another set of hands to help Logan put everything together. 

The soccer goals were huge, near-professional things made out of white piping. Logan barked at him which pieces to pick up, when to lift, and which joints fit together. There was minimal angry growling involved, and altogether it didn't take them long to get the nets assembled.

Nate let Logan corral the kids outside afterward and yell instructions to them, assigning teams at random and then laying down basic rules: "No fighting, no biting, no powers, and no hands touching the ball in soccer." It was silent for a long beat and then Logan remembered the young girl whose mutation was that she had hands all over her body, including two extra pairs of arms instead of legs.

Logan sighed. "You know what? Anything goes, just have fun and don't hurt each other."

They found a patch of grass in the shade, Logan procured a few beers from the kitchen, and the two of them watched the kids start playing while they drank.

"So. How's the wife?" Logan questioned.

"How the hell would I know?" Nate scowled. "She's alive," he added. He wasn't ungrateful for that, but it was hardly a topic he wanted brought up in small talk.

"Sorry. I mean the mistress," Logan amended, in a less friendly tone. "I'm surprised he hasn't texted you fifty times already."

"I turned my phone off," Nate said instead of taking the bait.

Logan didn't look impressed. "Is that really wise?" he asked pointedly, and then tipped back his bottle of beer and finished the rest of it off all at once.

_ Probably not,  _ Nate thought, to his chagrin. He dug out his phone and turned the damn thing back on, and then waited impatiently while it booted up and vibrated for what felt like a full 30 seconds as Wade's string of missed text messages came in all at once.

  
  


_ Wade: it doesn't have to be crunchy waffle texture _ _  
_ _ Wade: it only has to be foldulr _

_ Wade: foldound _ _  
_ _ Wade: the thing _

_ Wade: and ice cream _ __  
_ Wade: idk how to explain _ _  
_ __ Wade: sorry

_ Wade: you can get whatever for dinner I'm ok with whatever _

  
  


Nate put his phone away again without answering. He couldn't right now, he was still too frustrated. He didn't understand what the hell Wade was on about, or his obsession with the shape of the food rather than what it was made of. Aside from the _ ice cream, _ of course.

"You seem angry," Logan commented. Nate looked up to glare at him, but Logan was watching the kids, with a new bottle of beer already opened.

"Wade's being a dumbass."

"Is he ever not a dumbass? You're not usually pissed about it."

"It's got nothing to do with this job, so it'd be great if you mind your own business," Nate replied.

"Yeah, I didn't ask. Don't really give a fuck about your relationship, but if it's gonna put you off your game here then you're making it my business."

Nate felt a spike of heat that either anger or embarrassment, but he wasn't quite sure which. "You telling me to leave?"

"No, I--   **_HEY!_ ** I SAID  **_NO BITING!"_ ** Logan snarled, rising to his feet long enough to make sure nobody was hurt and the kids went back to playing nicely. "We got a fucking biter this year," he muttered when he finally sat down again. "I'm saying sort your shit out. You don't like him, move out. Whatever favor you think you owe him, you don't. Just because he saved your family doesn't mean you owe him your life now."

"I don't owe him shit," Nate scowled, kicking at a clod of dirt near his heel. "I mean, I do, but that's not why I'm sticking around. He's the only person I can stand. Usually."

"It's pretty telling if the only two people you can stand in this world are an insufferable lunatic and  _ me," _ Logan scoffed, and Nate almost forgave him for the insult purely for how much loathing Logan put into that little word referring to himself.

"Don't call him that."

"Or what? You'll punch me in the jaw? Go for it, you could stand to blow off the steam."

"Oh, I'm sorely tempted," Nate chuckled darkly, and knocked back more of his drink. He was also sorely tempted to get something stronger. But the alcohol had never helped anything, and as fun as a fight might be for the both of them, not all of the kids were in combat training and they definitely didn't need to see anything that looked violent right now. The point of the day was to distract them from all of the terrible shit going on in the world.

It wasn't even that serious.

Maybe that's why it was embarrassing to admit how fucking frustrating it all was. Because it wasn't about dinner, it was about Wade being unable to communicate the simplest fucking thing no matter how many times Nate asked.

"You don't want to hear it."

"I don't," Logan agreed, resigned. "So just spit it out already."

"Sometimes I can follow Wade's trainwreck of logic, and other times I wish he'd just tell me what the fuck he wants," Nate grumbled.

"If this is about sex, you'd better keep that shit to yourself," Logan said.

"It's about  _ dinner.  _ I forgot how homophobic this era is," Nate muttered.

"'S not friggin' homophobia. 'Least, not from me. The thought of Wade Wilson fucking anyone is just disgusting. You might live with him, but you're not the one who has to  _ smell him _ ," Logan said, clarifying nothing, but Nate got the gist that if Logan was biased against anything, it was his distaste for Wade in particular. "Plus there are kids here," he added, taking another long swig of his beer, as if he needed it.

"Well, you can calm down," Nate said. "We aren't having sex. We're just having dinner. Or we would, if he'd tell me what the fuck he wants."

"Well, that's your first mistake."

Nate looked at Logan, waiting for him to elaborate. When Logan noticed, he raised an eyebrow at Nate's cluelessness.

"Assuming Wade Wilson actually knows what the fuck he wants."

Nate let out a little sigh. "He asked for ice cream tacos, but when I asked him to just write down the specific ingredients so I can pick them up, he tells me it doesn't matter. What matters is the  _ energy _ and the  _ shape _ and the fucking ice cream. That's the only thing he  _ is _ clear about."

"It doesn't matter, then."

"Grocery stores don't stock nebulous concepts, Logan," Nate said. "I can't make what he wants if he doesn't tell me how."

"Trust me, he doesn't know how," Logan said. "So there's no point in asking him for something that doesn't exist in his head. He'll be happy with whatever you come up with."

Nate was doubtful. "Don't be so sure."

"I'm sure. He's an idiot and he eats like a garbage disposal. He'll forget what he even asked for and just be happy because you made it. The two of you make me sick. Have another beer," Logan said, thrusting a bottle toward Nate.

Nate eyed the bottle for a moment, and then decided against it. "Really shouldn't. One is fine, but we're watching the kids. Should probably stay sober for that."

"Suit yourself. It'd take a lot more to even give me a good buzz," Logan grumbled, twisting the cap off for himself and taking a swig.

Nate tried to think about Logan's advice.  _ It didn't matter. _ Of course it mattered. But did it really matter if he couldn't give Wade what he wanted? Only if the reason why he couldn't was because Wade was being deliberately difficult about it. But maybe Logan was right. Nate was trying to ask for something that wasn't even a concept in Wade's head. He was trying to force Wade to draw a line from Point A to Point B, but for him, that line mattered so little, it didn't even occur to him.

If all that mattered was the end result, then it gave Nate a lot of creative leeway. Far more than he was comfortable with, in fact. But Wade would either enjoy it, or he'd have to go without.

The only parameters were ice cream and  _ foldoundular _ . A stupid, made-up word that meant folded and round. Didn't have to be crunchy. Didn't matter what the toppings were. All that mattered was whatever the fuck 'ice cream taco energy' meant in Wade's head.

He could start with something round, like a pancake. Fold it around the ice cream itself. Except pancakes were usually too thick and would just crumble, but something thinner, like a crêpe, would be just--

Nate paused, not even finishing the thought in his head, and just stared.

Really.

He dug out his phone and looked up 'ice cream crêpes'.

The results were full of delicate desserts folded into various shapes and covered with fresh fruits and drizzled with chocolate and caramel sauce.

Suddenly he felt like he understood what 'ice cream taco energy' meant. It wasn't remotely the same thing. But at the same time, it had ice cream, and it was round, but  _ folded,  _ and it looked absolutely gorgeous and he already knew how simple it would be to throw together.

Nate saved one of the photos to his phone and messaged it to Wade.

_ Nate: Dinner. _

Less than half a minute later, Wade replied.

_ Wade: Marriage proposal????? _

_ Nate: Are you asking or offering? _

_ Wade: I love you. _

  


Nate let out a soft laugh.

  


_ Nate: Crepes it is, then. _

  
  


That was so simple. Why'd he get so hung up in the first place and make everything so difficult?

"Figured it out?" Logan asked, eyeballing him as if he was contagious.

"Yeah. Got it sorted," Nate confirmed, putting his phone away again.

"Good. Don't ever talk to me about your relationship again."

"Not a relationship, and I didn't plan on it."

Logan didn't listen to him. "I mean it. When you two start fucking, don't you dare come near me. I'm not your dad." Then Logan knocked his beer over as he jumped up to his feet again.   **_"BITER._ ** _ I TOLD YOU  _ **_NO._ ** _ YOU KEEP IT UP, THE AVENGERS HAVE A MUZZLE FOR YOU." _

Nate got up, following Logan onto the field to assist, which ended with him picking up a very tiny, angry, flailing child and carrying them to the sidelines. Meanwhile, Logan made sure nobody was actually hurt (they weren't) and set the game in motion again. 

Nate kept the Biter tucked under his left side while she squirmed around and tried to escape. She had short hair in natural curls that were just as unruly as she was, and skinny little arms and legs that hurt when she managed to kick his shins.

"Not gonna happen, kiddo," Nate assured her. "Just settle down, you're stuck with me until you can play nice."

She whined and then screeched like a shrill little banshee, but Nate had experience with temper tantrums from his own daughter and just waited it out until she finally calmed down again.

"Better?" he asked, but she let out another long, growling whine. She looked and sounded more like she was overwhelmed than anything.  "What's wrong?"

Biter was tiny but strong, and she tried to push out of his grasp with all of her strength, and actually gave him a little bit of trouble before she finally gave up again.

"Huhrts," she said, in a babyish voice that was almost as small as she was.

"What hurts?" Nate asked, looking her over carefully, but now he could see the multiple rows of sharp little pearlescent teeth inside of her mouth. "Is it your teeth, darling?"

Biter nodded, her eyes shiny with tears. Nate loosened his grasp on her, settling the child against his hip to hold her, and brought his hand closer to her mouth to try and encourage her to let him have a better look. Instead, she promptly bit down on the base of his thumb, her little teeth pricking through his TO like knives digging into a wooden board.

"Hm. Baby girl. Can I have my hand back?" Nate asked, gently, but her jaw stayed clamped firmly in place, only moving to gnaw on him. It seemed like the gnawing gave her relief, and he was more worried about hurting her if he tried to pry her off, so eventually Nate just sat down on the grass and let her stay.

It was a bit chaotic to watch the game continue, with various ages and abilities all mixed together. One of the kids was nothing but a fiery streak at times, but got winded easily and had to slow down often. Another could had dragonfly-like wings on his back, but could only just barely hover off the ground.

A few of the other kids weren't very interested in athletics and once things had calmed down, they tentatively joined Nate on the sidelines, where they started plucking tiny flowers and blades of grass and playing pretend instead. That was fine.

He kept an eye on the little group of outliers, and kept the little one in his lap, who was quickly becoming a very calm and quiet child, causing no harm other than a few tiny holes in his hand.

When Logan finally rejoined him in their new location, he grimaced and chuckled. "Biter got a hold of you, I see."

"You never had kids? She's  _ teething,  _ Logan," Nate said.

"Ah, shit. Yeah, that makes sense. Figured she was a little too old for that, but her mutation only just came in."

"What's her name?"

"Clara. But the kids call her Piranha."

Her mouth came off of his hand with a wet little pop. "Don't caw me a piwanha!" she fussed, upset again.

"Shh, no. Nobody's calling you that, baby girl," Nate assured her, bouncing her on his knee to soothe her crying spell and shooting Logan a glare. Logan raised his hands and made himself scarce, going back to act as referee and leaving the quiet kids for Nate to handle on his own.

It wasn't long before Clara had her teeth sunk into Nate's arm again, which was a little alarming, but she was so well behaved with something to teethe on and someone to be gentle with her, Nate just let her be until it was time to go inside.

When the other kids headed in, Nate lifted her up and held her against his side, where she clung to him like a koala. Cute.

"You want a cookie?" Nate asked as he carried her inside.

"No."

"No?"

"Carrwots."

"Oh, I like you. Let's get some carrots."

  
  


  
x  
  



	4. Chapter 4

"Hey! I  _ juuust _ beat you home," Wade sang when Nate came through the door carrying groceries. It was half past six, and Wade was showered and dressed down already. Uniform off, t-shirt and sweatpants on. "What'd you get good?"

"You'll have to find out," Nate answered, dropping the bags in the kitchen to unload.

"Naaaate!" Wade came bounding over, watching like a dog waiting for a treat as Nate started to set things on the counter. "Don't tease. Narrate. What's that stuff?"

Nate paused. For a second, he could have sworn he smelled something burnt. But then again, Wade dragged in all kinds of weird scents when he'd been out on a job. "Flour to make the crêpes," he said.

"Creeps," Wade repeated, rocking on his heels.

"Strawberries," Nate continued, setting the carton aside. "Chocolate sauce. Raspberry sauce. French vanilla ice cream.  _ And  _ Fudge Hurricane, uhh--" he glanced at the carton again, "--Nut Explosion. Figured you'd like that," he added when Wade snatched it out of his hands.

"What did I do to deserve this?" Wade questioned aloud as he hugged the somewhat wet carton of ice cream to his chest. "Did I save a bunch of mistreated orphans?"

"I mean… Technically, yes," Nate noted. "Our initial teamup ended with orphans being saved."

"Yeah! It did, didn't it? And the way things are going, I'm pretty sure our crossover teamup turned into a bonafide ongoing series," Wade said.  _ "Deadpool and Cable." _

"That doesn't really flow, does it?" Nate remarked. "I think  _ 'Cable and Deadpool'  _ sounds better."

"Why should your name be first? Not only am I the sex appeal in this duo, I'm the one bringing the readership in."

"I don't even know what you're talking about, it just sounds better."

"How about,  _ The Wade and Nate Show?" _

"Cue laugh track," Nate deadpanned with the slightest smile on his lips. "Oh, and this," he added, reaching for another item and tossing it to Wade. "Thought of you."

Wade managed to catch the little container and looked it over. Sugar crystals, in four different colors, for decorating. He let out a little gasp.

"I could kiss you. So hard. Like full tongue, Nate, I mean it."

"Glad you like it. It's literally none of the things you asked for. Except for the ice cream, and the chocolate sauce."

"No, this is exactly what I wanted. This is better," Wade reassured him, bouncing lightly on his toes. He set the ice cream and sprinkles down onto the counter with everything else and started just… wiggling around and dancing. 

Nate tried not to laugh. Well. Wade was happy. Mission accomplished. He washed his hands and started searching for a pan.

"Did you work today?" Wade asked.

"Babysitting duty."

"Oh, lame."

"No, it was fine. The kids need us. What did you end up doing for that client?"

"Ohh. I can't disclose that, but I  _ can  _ reassure you that at no time did it ever violate US airspace."

"Do I want to know what that means?" Nate asked, setting a pan on the stove. "And do I wanna know why I keep smelling smoke?"

"Smoke?" Wade repeated, confused. 

"Are you playing innocent or do you really not smell that?"

"I don't. I just got home, Nate, I haven't had time to shove bacon into the toaster or anything, I swear."

"If you stand right here," Nate said, physically moving Wade to where he was standing. "It smells like something burning. Tell me you can smell that."

"Okay. Definitely a whiff of something, but that's not  _ us,"  _ Wade told him. "Unless you were toasting some smores with the X Kids today."

"No such luck," Nate denied, and then a smoke alarm sounded off from somewhere else in the apartment building. "Put your shoes on." He headed out the door to find the source, not waiting for Wade to follow him.

The hallway was filled with a thin, barely-there smoke, but it was plain enough to see and smell. He followed the smoke alarm down a level, and heard Wade behind him hurrying to catch up and cursing loudly.

Only one floor down, the smoke was already so much heavier, and the smoke alarm was an obnoxious pulse in his head. He pounded on the door, as if that really made much difference compared to the wailing alarm, but he could hear a baby under the din, and a woman's voice crying out.

"Is this the apartment with kids?" Nate asked Wade.

"Yeah. Uhm, the Herreras," Wade answered, but Nate wasn't really listening past 'yeah' and was already forcing the door open with a combination of telekinesis and brute force.

The inside of the apartment was filled with an almost opaque haze that stung at Nate's eyes. They could barely see the woman holding her baby even though she was no more than ten feet from the door, but when Nate and Wade went to usher her out of the apartment, she became more hysterical instead.

Nate didn't catch much of her rapid words, but he understood the frantic pleading and the terror in her voice, and her resistance to leave.  _ "Mi niño, mi niño," _ she said to them over and over again, torn between protecting the crying baby in her arms and the other child she couldn't locate.

"There's a boy," Wade said to Nate, in between strings of Spanish to try to calm the woman down.

"I know. Take her," Nate said, trying to discern the rooms in the small apartment. In such low visibility, it felt like a maze.

"Nate-"

"Take her," Nate barked again, leaving no room for argument.

Wade spoke to the woman again and put his arm around her, forcing her out the door and downstairs to safety, where other tenants were also evacuating.

Nate moved quickly through the rooms, trying to keep low to avoid breathing in the worst it. With the mother and her baby gone, it was a little quieter. Underneath the nonstop wail of the smoke alarm, he managed to hear the other child whimpering and found him underneath his bed. He dragged the boy out, holding him close and muttering comforting nonsense words as he beat a hasty retreat back to the exit.

The child was sobbing in earnest when Nate reunited him with his mother outside on the pavement. She was still a crying mess and she said something to Nate that he hoped was gratitude and then clutched her son close to her. Nate backed off, not wanting to cause any more stress for her, and also wanting to get some air away from the tenants and random people on the street coming to gawk at the smoke spilling out of one of the apartment windows. They could already hear sirens nearby, headed their way. That was pretty quick.

_ "Is the building on fire?" _ someone asked, while Nate doubled over and coughed until his lungs hurt.

"Are you okay?" Wade asked, hovering near him.

"'M fine," Nate said, although his throat felt raw. "You should worry about them."

"Oh, she's gonna have to go to the hospital," Wade said. "Kid too. And the baby! I mean, if being in there messed you up, imagine what it did to those little baby lungs."

"I'm not messed up," Nate argued. "Why aren't you with her?"

"Because my face makes children cry?"

"She doesn't speak English, Wade, you should stay with her."

"I will as soon as the param-"

" _Now, _ Wade! Christ!"

"Fine, okay!" Wade went back to the mother, looking harassed and then vaguely embarrassed as he hovered near her instead, watching over the little family unit and occasionally saying something to them, and telling other overly suspicious bystanders to back off. When the fire trucks and EMT arrived on scene, Wade aggressively flagged them down and made sure that the mother and kids were treated.

Only then, Nate finally relaxed and found a spot to sit down, away from the chaos. Christ, why was he shaking so badly? He'd been through worse. He was a soldier, for fucks sake, his heart shouldn't be pounding.

After what felt like forever, an ambulance finally left with the mother and her kids. Wade made his way back to Nate, who looked at him questioningly.

"You didn't go with her?"

"Yeah, no, once they knew I wasn't family,  _ no bueno. _ But you should've seen the guy's face at first, Nate. He thought I was a burn victim." Wade laughed uncomfortably.

"But she doesn't speak--"

"She speaks a  _ little  _ English, and lots of people know Spanish," Wade reassured him. He plopped down beside Nate on the pavement and looked up, watching thin smoke wafting out into the evening sky. "That looks bad. Is our apartment going to burn down?"

"I… don't know," Nate admitted. "I'm sure they're handling it."

"I don't wanna move. But I could. We could afford that, I mean. But I can't replace Nessa's photos. They won't let anyone back into the building, but maybe I could climb up the fire escape and go back inside…"

"Don't do that," Nate stopped him, tugging Wade's arm to keep him down.

"Why? Don't worry, Nate, even if it was an inferno in there I don't think I can actually die. I might not make it back out, though… and photos can't regenerate. Huh.  _ That's _ a dilemma."

"I don't think it's an inferno, Wade. We just have to wait," Nate said. It all sounded reasonable enough, even to his own ears, but his stomach still felt like it was in knots.

Wade fidgeted, staring up at the building and the smoke lingering in the air.  Nate kept his hand on Wade's arm to stop him from interfering.

Somehow an hour had slipped by since everything started, and there was no sign of the building being cleared just yet. Wade kept humming and whispering the same song to himself over and over again, but at least he was being patient. The other tenants were getting restless, arguing with the firefighters who weren't allowing anyone back inside until everything was inspected. Nate overheard more than a few heated words, but it was the stares in his direction, and the mutter of  _ "muties" _ that made him decide to leave before they ended up blamed for something they had nothing to do with.

Meanwhile, Wade was still bouncing beside him, and then started singing under his breath, no longer able to contain it to his own head,  _ "I'm burning through the sky, yeah--" _

"Wade."

Wade didn't look pleased with himself, but also couldn't stop.  _ "Two hundred degrees, that's whytheycallmeMr.Fahrenheit--" _

Nate put his hand over Wade's mouth, and the other man just nodded in agreement and relief.

"Let's go." Nate got to his feet with purpose and made sure Wade was following him.

"Go, go where?" Wade asked, although it hardly mattered to him. He aggressively hummed another bit of the song as softly as he could while he tried to keep up with Nate, who had just picked a direction and started walking.

A few streets down, Nate's head finally caught up with him. He was hungry. And they couldn't go home. And there were plenty of restaurants and diners around town. And he could eat.

"Let's get dinner," Nate said, resolved. Neither of them had been able to grab anything from the apartment, but he still had his wallet in his pocket, with Wade's debit card inside. They didn't need anything else.

"Dinner? But we  _ had _ dinner," Wade objected softly. "What about the creeps?"

"We can find a place that serves crêpes," Nate reassured him.

"That's not… I was looking forward to  _ yours. _ Not that I expect you to always make dinner or anything like that, but it's just--" Wade floundered, sounding oddly upset, and confused, and abashed. "It was. I dunno. Special. I guess."

"It's just dinner, Wade," Nate said, stopping just short of the entrance of a diner to look at the other man. "It can wait."

"I know that," Wade said, defensive yet sheepish at the same time. "But I was looking forward to tonight's. Because it was with you. Y'know? That's all."

"I'm right here," Nate reminded him.

Wade rubbed the back of his bare scalp. "Yeah. Guess so."

Nate stepped to the side and looked up at the sign for the little hole-in-the-wall diner they'd stopped in front of. "Is this good enough?"

"If I'd known we were going out for the evening, I would've worn my best dress," Wade joked.

"Another time," Nate answered, holding the door open for him, and Wade ducked inside.

  
  
  


"Two," Nate said to the confused hostess, because Wade had apparently ignored her and was just walking around, looking at the retro 1950's-esque decor. She grabbed two menus and Nate took Wade by the elbow, herding him to the table she indicated.

Once seated, Wade immediately opened the menu and poured over it like it held the answers to every Golden Girls conspiracy theory he'd ever made Nate listen to. 

Their waitress set their table and then pulled out a small notepad and asked what they wanted for drinks, but Wade seemed so lost in his menu choices he didn't hear her at all even after a second prompting.

"Water's fine," Nate said. "Give us five minutes or so?"

She came back with two glasses of ice water, then left again. About a full minute later Wade finally set down his menu, bug-eyed.

"There's five different types of cheeseburger," Wade said.

"Is that what you want?"

"I don't know  _ what _ I want. Five cheeses.  _ Nine _ types of burger. Borger. Holy shee-it. Chili Cheese Cheddar Bacon Frankenburger."

"Is that what you want?"

"I don't  _ want it _ so much as I want to call its name out during sex," Wade said, and then whispered again, "Chili cheese cheddar bacon borger," and that alone really shouldn't have been enough to set Nate's blood flowing, but life was full of unexpected curveballs.

"Ohhh, onion rings. Ohhh! Buffalo wings!  _ Ohhh,  _ triple chocolate cake," Wade sighed, and then put his elbows on the table and his head down, folding his hands over the back of his head. Instead of looking pleased, Wade just looked… overwhelmed, for some reason.

"Do you need more time?" Nate asked.

Wade made an odd noise. "I need  _ less.  _ Less things I like. Or more stomachs. There's a lot of different Flavortowns to visit, but I can only choose one sensation destination from my flavor station."

As usual, Nate didn't get half of Wade's babbling, but he got the gist. It wasn't hard for him to narrow down what he wanted, but he had to admit there were a lot of choices. Probably far more than what was actually practical for a kitchen. For Wade, who already had a hard time focusing, it was probably an information overload.

"You can choose more than one," Nate reminded him.

_ "Can I?" _

"Why not? It's not like we can't afford it. As long as you don't make yourself sick."

"Okay. Cool, cool, coolcoolcool," Wade scanned the menu, mumbling to himself as he reviewed the choices again. Nate listened, carefully, following along with Wade's soft stream-of-consciousness with his own menu. "A sandwich comes with curly fries  _ and  _ a salad. But I don't really want a sandwich. But the chicken basket looks good too… but I don't want a biscuit, I just want some chicken… Oh, a burger comes with fries and salad, too… but no chicken. Hm. 'Ti- _ la- _ pia.' 'Zesty zucchini fettuccine.'"

The waitress came back while Wade was still mumbling. "Need more time to think about it?"

"No, we're good," Nate said. "I'll have the steak and salad, please. Medium rare."

"And you, doll?" the waitress questioned Wade, who had frozen up and gone completely silent.

"He wants a bacon cheeseburger," Nate said, ignoring the chili cheese monstrosity Wade had zeroed in on earlier, in favor of its tamer cousin. "With mushrooms. And the curly fries and salad. And we'll have an appetizer of buffalo chicken wings."

"Alright?" she asked, and Wade just looked at Nate in surprise. "I'll be back in a jiff." She collected their menus and left.

"Bacon cheeseburger doesn't come with mushrooms," Wade said.

"Yeah, that's why I specified 'with mushrooms.'"

"Why?"

"You like mushrooms."

"I do?" Wade looked genuinely perplexed and thought about it for a while. "Oh yeah, I guess I do."

"Idiot," Nate snorted softly, his hands folded on the table. 

Wade reached out and grabbed Nate's left hand, pulling it closer for inspection. He'd noticed the little bite marks, Nate realized, mentally preparing himself to explain. Wade slid his fingers over the little indentations as if to see if they were real or an optical illusion, and then just as quickly, brought Nate's hand to his face and pressed his lips against the wound. Not a kiss, although it made Nate's heart rate jump for a second. Just a strange, impulsive brush of his lips against the texture, like a cat nuzzling. Just as unexpectedly, Wade opened his mouth wide and bit Nate's hand, as if to compare the injury, and then after all of that, exclaimed, "What happened to your hand?!"

Nate blinked twice and then got over his shock.

"Minor incident at work."

"I thought you weren't on the active roster today."

"I wasn't. Logan and I were looking after the kids. They've got a biter this year," Nate explained, using Logan's turn of phrase because it somewhat amused him.

"Kids are vicious!" Wade declared, despite having just grabbed and bitten Nate out of pure impulsive curiosity.

"Ah, no. Not Clara. She's sweet," Nate explained. "She's only about four years old, and she's got a mouthful of some wicked pearly whites coming in. She didn't mean to, she's just teething."

"Aww. Baby shark," Wade cooed, tracing the tiny ring of tooth marks again. "That must be miserable. More miserable than having Wolvie for a full-time Mr. Mom. Geez, they're making them younger and younger these days."

"Pretty soon the mansion will just be a nursery," Nate joked.

"Haah! Can you imagine Wolvie up to his wrists in mutant baby poop?"

"He did get puked on today," Nate said, and Wade broke off into sadistic laughter. "Took it like a champ, though. I only felt a little bad for him. Glad it wasn't me."

"Ah, you'd be fine," Wade assured him. "Kids can be nasty little hellions, but they're also sweet. Like you said. You ever think about having some? You'd make such a good mom."

"Wade, I love you but I  _ will _ kill you," Nate warned, but he still didn't take his hand away from Wade's grasp.

"You said the L word! I was starting to think you were allergic," Wade teased. To Nate's deeply unamused look, he added, "I was  _ kidding. _ I remember everything you said about Hope. Red hair, little spitfire, guaranteed she takes right after her daddy. See, sometimes I listen to you, I just don't  _ behave. _ Stay still."

He kept a hold of Nate with one hand, and with the other, reached for the straw in his glass of water and pulled it out. The next thing Nate knew, Wade was using the wet end of his straw to dot little droplets onto the back of his hand.

"What are you doing?" Nate asked, amused, as Wade continued oh-so carefully placing more random drops.

"Jeff Goldbluming you," Wade said. Two large beads of water merged together and ran down his wrist.

"What?"

"I don't know. I just have this vivid memory of Jeff Goldblum putting water on the back of some chick's hand. I don't remember why or what movie it was. Something about chaos comes to mind, though.  _ Blap," _ he added, wildly placing another droplet and accidentally splattering water everywhere instead.

"You're chaos," Nate snorted, but he didn't stop Wade from taking his other hand a moment later and doing the same thing, dripping ice water all over his too-warm skin until he was wet.

He'd forgotten about anything else except for Wade's hand supporting his, until suddenly Wade pulled away with a revelatory gasp and whispered with a strange, feverish excitement,  _ "Dinosaurs." _

And then their food arrived.

  
  


\--

  
  


The apartment was clear when they got home. If it weren't for the lingering scent of smoke clinging to the air, it was almost as if nothing had happened at all.

All of the groceries were still sitting on the counter. Including the two containers of ice cream, which were completely melted.

Wade looked crestfallen. "We shouldn't have left for so long."

"We were sitting outside for an hour," Nate reminded him. "It would've been melted by then anyway."

Wade nodded in sad agreement, and slurped some of the fudge ice cream up with a spoon while Nate poured the other down the kitchen sink. 

"Tomorrow," Nate promised, pushing some of the ingredients aside on the counter and putting the neglected strawberries into the fridge. "Raincheck." 

"More like firecheck in this case," Wade joked, and then added his sad melted mess of ice cream to the drain.

-

It was late. 

Wade flopped onto the couch.

Nate took a shower to wash off the stench of smoke, and to cool his overheated skin.

When he was clean, Nate pressed his forehead against the shower wall and finally addressed the arousal he'd been staving off all evening, working himself with quick, efficient strokes. Doing it in the shower wasn't how he preferred it, but he already knew it wouldn't take much to get off and he needed the relief.

His thoughts were full of Wade. Wade's voice. Wade's overly expressive face. Wade's lips brushing against his skin. Wade just as impulsively pressing his lips against Nate's throat, or the skin of his inner thigh... Wade, naked and sprawled out on his bed, just as flustered and confused as he'd been this morning, but this time Nate would tease that bottom lip with his thumb and then make him suck -- No, Wade would be willing to, and that felt wrong of him to take advantage of, but Wade would be so, so good for him, so eager to please, and he wanted to make it good for Wade too, to see him come undone, to hear Wade pant his name in that slightly raspy, fucked-out voice when he made him come. He could imagine that perfectly -- that needy, whiny,  _ Nate, _ placed in an entirely different context, just for him. That was the thought that tipped him over the edge this time, biting his left hand in the same place where Wade's lips had been to stay silent when he came.

And then, immediately after that, another thought suddenly came to mind: Wade, mid-coital, whimpering out the words,  _ 'Chili cheese cheddar bacon borger.' _

Nate exhaled a soft laugh into the shower's spray and then took a deep breath and let it out as reality came creeping back but that soft ache in his chest didn't go away.

Oh, he was in trouble.

-

When Nate emerged from the bathroom, dried and ready to go to sleep, he found Wade sprawled face down across the couch.

Nate took a moment to just stare, trying to assess what it was exactly that he saw in Wade. But he already knew. The scars on his skin didn't do much to obscure the fine shape of his body. At the moment, Nate was particularly fond of the swell of Wade's biceps and the dip of his spine. He wanted to trace that shallow groove with his fingertips and learn how Wade would react. He'd been allowed to touch before, and Wade would most likely allow it again. Which was exactly why Nate should keep his damn hands to himself. But he couldn't stop himself from thinking about it anyway.

Wade wasn't asleep just yet and must've sensed Nate standing somewhere behind him. "G'night Nate," he mumbled, his head jerking up and then plopping back onto his pillow with an exhausted little sigh. Nate watched him wiggle, stretching out and shifting his limbs until Wade was settled again.

It didn't do anything to help quash the growing fondness that Nate felt for him.

"Night, Wade," Nate answered, leaving him be and heading off to bed.

  
  


It was easy enough to fall asleep.

The nightmares, however, came unexpectedly. 

  
  


Nate woke up in the middle of night, barely able to remember the details of his dream, but gripped with the fear that he was still living it. In the dark, everything seemed hazy. All he could smell was burning, and the warm summer air felt too heavy, and for a minute he couldn't quite discern if he heard alarms somewhere or just the faint ringing in his own ears in the dead silence of the night.

Even after he got up and turned on the light, he wasn't completely sure. He studied his environment, trying to sift out what was real and what was just a useless fear response. Chemicals lingering in his head, fresh from a bad dream, making him irrational. He pressed his forehead against the cool panels of his door, trying to will his blood to stop pounding in his ears. Trying to discern if he actually smelled fire or not.

It had happened once before. It wouldn't be so crazy if it happened again. But there were no alarms. Nothing but the endless stretch of silence beyond his room, where he knew Wade was asleep, as well as everyone else in the building.

It was just a bad dream.

"Get a grip," Nate said to himself.

He shut off the light and went back to bed, but he couldn't sleep and everything seemed hazy and only heightened his anxiety until he was driven to put the lights on again.

Everything was fine. He knew that. The dream didn't feel real anymore. He could hardly even remember the specifics, so clearly it didn't matter very much.

Nate laid down again, leaving the light on. It was easier that way, to remember that nothing was burning. That Wade was just beyond that door. That the world outside was just beyond those walls, and the earth kept spinning, and no matter how fucked up things were everywhere else, it wasn't  _ them. _ Not today.

Everything was fine. So he was fine.

  
  
  


x

  
  
  
  



End file.
